Devastated by the loss of his wife Hermione, Harry concocts a crazy plan to go back in time. Arriving just before 4th year, Harry does everything he can to get closer to Hermione. Asking her to the Yule Ball, Harry is devastated when she rejects him, saying she already has a date. Crushed by the rejection, Harry finds himself wandering the shore of the Black Lake when he comes across Fleur Delacour. Gathering his courage, he asks her to the Ball and is surprised that she accepts. As they prepare for the upcoming festivities, Harry finds himself falling for the beautiful French Veela.
Prompts
articulating potential
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A Change in Years
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.
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Vindictive nature of Veela
First dementors attack him on Private Drive, then the Ministry expels him from Hogwarts and snaps his wand. Now, a few days after the hearing, Harry stands in Grimmauld Place in front of a stern looking Fleur Delacour, accepting a dark brown wand from her hands.
It is difficult to describe, as his fingers enclose around the handle, the wand emits a high pitched tone, reminiscent of a hawk hunting. Warmth runs up his arm, both comforting but with the promise of scorching heat.
Hermione’s eyes widen as she gasps, “Harry! Do you realize what this means?” Looking into the proudly gleaming eyes of Fleur Delacour, admiring her sharp features, her mouth widening into a fierce, feral smile. Never has Harry seen such beauty as this young woman, whose hair sang in harmony with his magic from within the new, slightly curved blackthorn wand. Exhiliration racing through his veins, Harry breathes out,
“I do. Now I finally do.”
And so it began.
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Prompt: 67
I just had to get this out. This feels more like an outline but a prompt. I might actually write it at some point.
During POA, Hermione manages to grab Scabbers and Sirius is allowed back into society after Peter Pettigrew is proven to be guilty. Afterwards, Harry only spends 2 days at the Dursleys and then he is allowed to go off to Number 12 where Sirius begins teaching and spending time with Harry more with the aim of showing him more of the magical society that he can only experience with family (gatherings, attending events etc.).
Harry first meets Fleur in a party he attends with Sirius. Fleur is alone in the garden and Harry stumbles into her. After fumbling and later moving to leave, she challenges him to a wizard's duel that she narrowly wins (due to experience with actual dueling and Harry just unleashing raw power which catches her off guard, or he could straight up beat her which surprises her).
Fleur's family, considered one of the most important families in France wants to have some footing in England. Their solution? Arrange Fleur's marriage to Harry. They find this out after their duel.Although Fleur's face was neutral she was just as surprised. She knows her duty to her family and her heritage so she accepts it. However she wants to understand and get to know Harry first before marrying which her mother accepts.
Harry spends the rest of his summer in France, visiting their house from time to time. During their meetings Fleur would always challenge Harry to a duel. Gabrielle, of course, wants to marry Harry. Despite their arranged marriage, Harry manages to talk to her with ease and she enjoys their bouts.
Harry still goes to the Burrow to meet up with Ron and everyone else for the Quidditch World Cup. He fails to mention about his arranged marriage. He just knows that Fleur will be there too but with her friends.
Part 2:
Harry still goes to the Burrow to meet up with Ron and everyone else for the Quidditch World Cup. He fails to mention about his arranged marriage. He just knows that Fleur will be there too but with her friends. She hopes she can meet him somewhere there to introduce to her best friend (who she has not revealed about the arranged marriage as well) .
During night time (when the DE attacks) he gets separated from Ron and Hermione. he comes across someone being shouting and trapped, surrounded by 2 DE. She saves that girl by some miracle. It turns out this girl is the daughter of the French Minister of Magic (and is also the best friend of Fleur Delacour). She takes an initial liking at Harry and mentions that they might meet again soon. Gives Harry a kiss on the cheeks and Harry notes that she has a warm/cheerful personality.
Harry and Fleur did not get to meet again as travel was explicitly banned for a few days following the attack. Fleur wrote to Harry asking if he was okay. They start writing more as Harry begins missing the days spent in their courtyard. Fleur also mentions that they might be meeting again.
The daughter of the minister (let's call her Charlotte for now) came for the Triwizard Tournament, and everybody swooned as she was very beautiful and comes from a very noble family. Ron of course was smitten. Ginny rolled her eyes and Harry smiled. Then Fleur came in and everybody was silent. She was devastatingly beautiful that day and Harry almost wanted to stop everyone from staring at his betrothed. Everyone was dumbfounded. Ron says she must be a Veela.
Last part:
During the feast, Charlotte comes over asking about the bouillabaisse and says hi to Harry and asks if she could bring him over to her best friend. She drags him by his arm towards Fleur who quickly grew red but managed to keep a neutral face. Agreeing through their letters that they would keep their arrangement private until they figure out about their relationship, they awkwardly say hi to each other like it was their first time.
This is very much flowerpot. Charlotte is just there to add spice or whatever as her warm/bubbly nature will somehow make Fleur take decisive steps about her feelings towards Harry.
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Hack the Ministry
Fleur Delacour, arithmancy and runes prodigy, is arrested for bringing down the wards at the French Ministry at the age of 11. She is not allowed access to her wand outside of classes and is escorted at all times by a team of Aurors until she comes of age.
With the announcement of the Triwizard Tournament, though, the Ministry decides she should be let out early for good behavior- as long as she is the Beauxbatons champion.
And while she's at Hogwarts, maybe she could take a look at whatever changes Dumbledore has been making to the school's protections, just in case....
In other words 1995's Hackers but Magic.
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Harry, Fleur, Narcissa
No horcrux AU, PostWar. Harry and Fleur became close friend during his 4th year. Before the end of it he knew that by the time he graduated Fleur would be taken, so he plotted and proposed the idea of going into the protection detail. Fleur wanted something adventurous for a career and the thought of working with Harry made her say yes. (This led her to working the next three years on glamours, defense, etc). Their plan consists of Harry acting as the body guard while Fleur is in change of acting as the body double (with access to polyjuice and glamours it's easily doable).
Skip a few years later and someone is targeting the Malfoy line. Lucius is kill, Draco was injured and is now in a hospital on the continent, and Narcissa has to stay in England until the procedures are completed to move the Malfoy money from Gringotts to the continent.
Cue Harry and Fleur acting as bodyguards for Narcissa. Shenanigans ensue and someone catches feels.
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Prompt: 196
He was always there, in the corner of the room, by the window, strolling down the street. Well dressed and wearing a kind smile, he spoke like an old friend to everyone he met. He had an old, battered pocket watch, always checking the time, but the hands never turned, always one second to midnight, and no one hears the moving of its gears. Then one day he appears by your side, and no one seems to notice, but you hear the tick as the watch strikes midnight.
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Mistress Red Death
Inspired by: Lady Snowblood, Lady Snowblood 2: Love Song Of Vengeance and Kill Bill: Vols. 1 & 2.
Lily Potter was away on business when Voldemort attacked and killed her husband and destroyed their home. She left her only son in the care of their closest friends, the Delacours. She embarks on a bloody mission of vengeance against the Dark Lord Voldemort and his followers, the Death Eaters. She begins her quest with the one person who used to be a childhood friend but turned towards the Dark. She begins with Severus Snape. In disguise, she leaves a trail of blood and corpses that leads her to be called: "Mistress Red Death"
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Prompt: 45
Harry Potter/sekiro crossover: due to plot reasons Harry's encounter with an strange and withered japanese man has gifted him the ability to resurrect immidately after being killed which the side effect of destroying the horoux within him, but also start the spread of a deadly disease called "Dragon's Rot" as the more the he dies and resurrects the greater and farther does the disease spread. Now having to fight Voldemort as well find a cure for a virus that has the potential of wiping out magical britian Harry is in a race against time with only his trusted friends and companions at his side.
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Overprotective
Sebastien Delacour was a overbearing protective father, he knew this, his wife knew this, his daughters certainly know this, so when Fleur, his eldest brought up the concept of dating, he began ranting. In that rant, he stated, “The only person worthy of my daughter is Harry Potter!”
Little did he know that he would be sitting next to the young wizard in question two years later for Christmas dinner.
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Safe To Let Go
Fleur Delacour was brilliant. She was smart, skilled, and determined to outshine all those who doubted her. She was also lonely and... frustrated. She was a vision of independence, always strong and proud, but though she could, and did, stand tall on her own, it grew tiring after awhile. She wanted... no, she needed to let go. To let herself be weak, to let herself rely on someone else for a change, to not need to be strong. But as a Veela, it was dangerous to let anyone participate in the kinds of things she wanted to do. She was an object of desire, that was how the world saw her. Something to be taken and possessed. It meant she couldn't afford to let anyone in except her family and childhood friends, and they needed her to be strong. She was just so tired. With every passing day it felt like she was burning out, like the Veela flames within were consuming her faster than she could renew, and soon there would be nothing left but a husk of who she used to be.
She'd tried before, to find someone she could relax with, someone she could let go with, someone she could be weak with, but it always ended in failure. As time passed she became more and more desperate culminating in the worst mistake of her life wherein she found someone willing to let her be herself, but who she knew wasn't right, wasn't safe. She'd seen the red flags and, in her desperation, ignored them. It was a disaster, and in the aftermath she gave up. She spent the day after it happened smiling bright and strong and reassuring her family that everything was fine, and she spent the night muffins her face in a stuffed toy and crying. She realized she'd never get what she needed. She'd have to stand tall and strong every day for the rest of her life, even as the crashing waves and burning flames tore what was left of her to pieces.
And then she met Harry.
Basically, Fleur spends her whole life forced into a constant state of strength and readiness leading to profound burnout and mild depression, but she doesn't want to be that way. She wants to relax and let go, and let someone else be strong for her, but she hasn't been able to find anyone who she feels safe to be with. Desperation drove her to compromise with someone who really wasn't safe, and it went horribly leading her to essentially give up. Then she meets Harry and she discovers that his kindness, compassion, and integrity are exactly the kind of thing she needs to feel safe and let herself let go.
TLDR: Emotional story about frustrated sub!Fleur letting in compassionate gentle!dom!Harry.
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Prompt: 97
Here's an idea for a Flowerpot/HarryxFleur story if anyone wants to write: Fleur is an accomplished young witch at Beauxbatons, in spite of her detractors saying she uses her looks and feminine wiles to get ahead of everyone. But the real reason is that once Fleur starts something, whether it be a book, subject or whathaveyou, she can't stop until she gets to the end. Call it persistence, stubborness, perserverance or all three, it is the reason Fleur is such a highly competent witch. When the Triwizard tournament is to be held at Hogwarts, Fleur is among those selected to join the delegation with the chance of being a champion for her school. Upon arriving at Hogwarts, Fleur draws nearly all the attention from the male students (and some female) of Hogwarts and Durmstrang. Barring one: Harry Potter himself who barely gives Fleur a once over. Surprised and a little indignant at the Boy Who Lived's apparent dismissal of her, Fleur starts to do her research on everything there is to know about Harry Potter and no matter how it frustrates her, Fleur can't stop until she gets to the bottom of the enigma that is Harry Potter and she soon realises that she's starting to fall in love with Harry
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CPA
Post-war, 3-7 years after the war. Harry gets an owl regarding his portion of the Weasley's Wizard Wheezes income. The money was deposited into an account that Fred setup. George completely forgot about the escrow portion of the account and without doing his part, the money was released to Harry. Due to weird tax law layering in a specific way, Harry has technically dodged taxes for seven years.
Cue a visit from Gringotts premier tax CPA, Fleur Delacour. Harry and Fleur haven't met after the death of Bill due to complications from the werewolf injuries. Fleur left England for France to better raise Victorie.
All I need to say is pencil skirt, white button down, and glasses
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Flower-Pot (Literally)
"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.
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No Surrender!
The war turned nasty with casualties mounting on both sides. It took much manoeuvring on both sides, much grief caused and many friends lost, but now the final battle has come. Voldemort had them cornered, besieged at Hogwarts. They held out, but the Dark Lord did what he did best, using a mysterious Curse, engulfing the castle in a sinister miasma. The defenders seemed to waste away and decompose and they started falling one by one. A desperate research followed and Hermione in a rush developed an enchantment to stop the spread of the unknown Curse. The Defenders knew they were under some form of surveillance, but they also knew they couldn’t hold out against another attack of such magnitude. So they used the surveillance against Voldemort, arranging a trap for him, making it seem that all the defenders fell.
Voldemort and his Death Eaters took the bait and entered the castle. While the Dark Lord strode confidently on, the Death Eaters seemed unnerved as they walked through the hallway with dead, decomposing bodies lining the walls.
Then to their horror their enemies who held out for so long, having mercilessly cut scores of them down, suddenly revived. The dead bodies stirred, standing up and attacking with unmatched ferocity. The fury of the attack was such that the Death Eaters, who actually outnumbered the defenders, panicked and either fell or ran away.
Yet even that fighting could not compare to the ferocious exchange between Voldemort and the leader of the defenders, Harry Potter. Like lightning in a storm, blazing, sizzling curses crossed the room between them, both combatants sporting numerous wounds now. Despite being hit by numerous curses, Harry bares his teeth in a predatory grimace. Harry won’t surrender, no and increases the speed and ferocity of his casting, striking fear into his foe. Finally, Voldemort falls to his knees, his hands clutching his throat, as he gurgles, drowning in his own blood.
“Curse you, Harry Potter!” He hisses and breathes his last. His magic, following the Dark Lord’s last wish, blasts Harry and he collapses too. He is rushed to the Hospital Wing, with Fleur Delacour, his right hand, at his side. The healers fight to save his life from the horrifying mixture of curses he was with. The fight is long, yet the healers persevere, bringing Harry from the brink several times. They remove and disentangle the curses one by one and manage to save Harry. Most of him. It pains Fleur in a way she struggles to comprehend as she watches the healers amputate both of Harry’s legs below the knees.
Finally, days later, as Fleur is waiting by Harry’s bedside, still recovering from her own wounds, Harry stirs and opens his eyes. In a flash, Fleur holds his hand and exclaims her joy. Harry seems confused, however.
“F-Fleur?” his voice rasps, “Why can’t I see you?”
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Prompt: 162
The time all fathers fear has come for Harry James Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, Man-Who-Won, Winner of the Triwizard Tournament, etc... A time of terror, pain and misery. His daughter, Victoire Potter, his treasure, his little angel, the apple of his eye... has informed him that she is dating a boy. And like all fathers before him, there is only one thing Harry can do: try and scare him away. After all, no one is good enough for his little girl, not even his own godson, Teddy Lupin, that filthy, treacherous little... Just wait till Harry gets his hands on him! You just wait! He may have seduced the daughter and charmed the mother, but the father will not be swayed so easily!
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A different summer
After the thrid task, Harry and Fleur end up in the hospital wing, neither being able to talking the whole night and become friends through that. They exchange letters throughout the summer and Fleur can plainly read how miserable he is. So she comes to Number 4 to visit him and is shocked by how he is (nightmares, grief) and how he is treated. To avoid an incident, Harry drags her to a park where they have a talk and Harry reveals all that he has been through while Fleur just holds him close and does her best to be there and comfort Harry, cradling him against her chest, stroking his hair and the like
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A Pair of Hearts
Harry dropped his gaze, determinedly studying the ground.
“I-I’m sorry, Fleur,” he whispered, harshly choking back a sob. “I didn’t, didn’t want to get you involved in that mess.”
A tear rolled down his cheek and fell next to his leg as he awkwardly stood there.
“You deserve, you deserve better.” He heaved a heavy sigh. “Better than this.”
As he slowly turned to leave, he was startled and stopped by her sudden, flowing movement.
“Oh ‘Arry,” A look of intense focus came over her features. With a featherlight touch, she traced the contours of his face, from the scarred brow, over the gaunt cheek and then brushed away his tears.
“I understood what would ‘appen when we got together.” She took his left hand into her right. “And I want to be with you, even when you are afraid, or 'urt, or unsure.” His hand, guided by her touch, found its way to her chest, right above her heart. “Just as I want you to be with me when I falter.” Her other hand dropped from his face and now touched his chest, feeling his own heart.
Harry was startled by this all and blushed, feeling the warmth and softness of her chest, but she didn’t let him go, her gaze holding him captive, as she closed the distance, pressing their foreheads together.
“Because love, love is more powerful than these…“ Here she grimaced. “trifles.”
And so she held him in place, by grasp and gaze, and he felt his heart calm down, beating steadily once again. And for each beat, her own heart answered his, slowly synchronising, until, finally, they beat in unison, bathed in the rays of the setting sun.
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Build a House, Plant a Tree
Harry and Fleur Potter, being relatively newly married, decide to build a new house for themselves, a home to call their own. Their friends and comrades help them get the building materials, but Fleur and Harry choose the spot and both also are the ones to build the house itself. Both adults are veterans of the War, yet martial magic isn’t their only forte and their friends, comrades and family are only too happy to lend a helping hand. Harry deftly wielded his wand when he prepared the foundations of the house. One of the elders who were present at their wedding came to bless the foundations and brought a gift from the enclave, an enchanted and blessed stone to be buried under the hearthstone of the new home, intended to bring luck and fertility to the couple.
Fleur then helped her husband with the framing, adding her graceful magic to his more rigid and forceful spells. Each part of the new house’s skeleton was heavily enchanted by the budding Charms Mistress.
Next came the walls and the roof, again the couple have entwined their magic, working in harmony, their magic, as their hearts, working as one. Each wall bore numerous enchantments and charms too, prepared to resist the elements and last for ages. Roof was put on with care, each roof tile bearing an enchanted runic inscription.
The rest was prepared with similar care and precision, furniture was prepared and moved in, until, finally, the new Potter House stood proudly and ready to receive guests. Under each corner of the house, there was a buried runestone with inscriptions praying to ancient gods for blessings and protection.
Now came another difficult task. Fleur took out the last gift from the Veela enclave, an oak sapling. Harry and Fleur both used their wands to create small incisions on their hands and smeared their blood on the precious gift while reciting the traditional chant, asking for luck and harmony in their marriage. The blood seemed to seep into the sapling without trace, yet both felt a profound change in their hearts and magic.
Now came the time to plant the sapling, close enough that it would, once fully grown, provide shade for the house’s inhabitants in their garden. After the planting, the somewhat sweating couple sat on the ground, embracing each other.
“We did a good job, my love,” Harry murmured while kissing the silvery crown of his wife’s head.
“In this ‘ouse, love will grow and blossom, mon Coeur.” Fleur whispered, tired, but elated.
-
Seriously is there a limit
He should have known. After all, when had his life ever possessed a semblance of normalcy? Even if he set aside the fact that he was a wizard, his life was still bonkers in comparison to his peers, courtesy of a raving, power hungry lunatic attacking him while he was still in diapers.
He thought it had ended once the oh so feared Dark Wanker had died at his hands, or more accurately, due to his spell being reflected back (Seriously, Trelawney, can't you avoid fucking up even while you're delivering an honest to god prophecy?). But then he had fallen in love with a magical being. And no, he didn't mean it in a metaphorical sense. He meant an actual being that existed solely in the magical world.
Fleur Delacour had been his secret crush ever since his fourth year at Hogwarts, so secret that even he hadn't been aware of it until the day he returned to Privet Drive after Dumbledore's funeral. At least he now had a solid reason why his relationships with Cho and Ginny had soured so quickly. After all, he was attracted to another woman, even if he didn't realize it. Maybe the catalyst had been feeling the relief flood him when the part-Veela had rejected Bill Weasley's proposal.
Five years had passed since the end of the Second Wizarding War, and he was happily married to the woman of his dreams and eagerly awaiting the birth of their first child. Their courting hadn't been easy, but he had persevered. After all, if he gave up at the first hint of trouble, he really wouldn't have been an ideal mate for the woman whose hand he was currently holding.
“Come on, Fleur. Just breathe. It'll be over soon.” He managed to keep a grin on his face, despite having lost all sensation in his hand a while back. Seriously, his wife was terrifyingly strong at times.
Her blue eyes met his, silvery-blond hair soaked with perspiration. “No, it will most definitely not be okay! You are never going to put that thing inside me ever again, Harry James Potter!”
He winced, but didn't respond to the jab. After all, Ron had said that Hermione acted almost exactly like what he was currently experiencing, and they had resumed their bedroom activities as soon as she had recovered. Still, a part of him worried, even if it were for naught. Yet, for some reason he was proud about how she had almost completely lost her accent. The only time she still used it was when they were in bed, and in those moments he had no complaints at all.
The pressure on his hand increased once more, letting him know that he actually did have some feeling left, although it was going to be leaving quickly. He could tell that she was close. At least that meant the ordeal would be over soon. He couldn't wait to hold his child for the first... wait, was her stomach glowing?
“Honey, is this supposed to happen?” He wasn't going to freak out. No, such events must be common for Veela. He hadn't really been able to learn much about his wife's race, although not from lack of trying. Wizarding Britain had almost no documentation, and France jealously guarded their secrets, with good reason. The taint of the previous administrations and their prejudice was still fresh.
What he didn't want to see were his wife's eyes widen in shock. She sat frozen for a minute, her grip on his hand slackening for a moment. All that escaped her mouth was, “Oh shit.”
He was finally beginning to freak. What the fuck is happening. Oh Merlin, please don't let anything happen to the baby, please let it be okay.
The light brightened to an almost blinding degree, forcing him to shut his eyes as he attempted to block it out. The intensity remained for a long moment, before it finally dimmed enough for him to open them once more. His emerald orbs immediately locked onto his wife, only to see that she was looking perfectly fine. And by perfectly fine, he meant that there was no hint of any pregnancy, and no baby to be seen anywhere.
He was about to sprint out of the ward, screaming his head off as he searched for his child, when he felt a slim yet firm hand wrap around his wrist. His eyes locked onto Fleur's, only to see a hint of trepidation. Alarm bells rang in his head. This definitely wasn't good.
“What's happening, Fleur? Where's our child gone?” He really needed answers, and he wanted them now.
She cleared her throat, her eyes looking anywhere but towards his. “Mon amour, there's something I should tell you. You know the muggle tale about how a stork brings the child?” His eye twitched. That wasn't important, dammit! His child was fucking missing. But instead of allowing all the chaotic thoughts in his head to spill out, he forced himself to take a deep breath. She was probably just as shocked as he was, and this was her way of dealing with it. He wasn't going to deny her the opportunity. “Yes, what about it?”
She fidgeted in her bed. “Well, it may not be as fictional as you thought.”
He resisted the urge to scoff. “What are you saying that Veela children are brought by a magical stork? Seriously Fleur, I love you but right now we need to focus on our missing child. Honestly, the next thing you'll tell me is that the stork would want me to prove my worth and we would have to...” A sharp tap was heard against the window to his right. He turned his head, beyond frustrated. Who in the blazes is knocking against the maternity ward window? His eyes finally landed on the glass, only for him to freeze.
“...box.”
There was no way this was happening. His eyes had to be fucking with him. There was no way a stork could be standing outside the window, with a fucking bundle held in his beak. Ron must have slipped something into his lunch. Yes, that was it. But somehow, he could tell that he wasn't hallucinating, as much as he would have wished he were.
“Open ze window, ‘Arry,” Fleur said. He didn't even notice that her accent had returned. His body was firmly on autopilot, moving over to the window to open it. He unlocked the latch, before lifting it up.
The stork hopped in, moving towards his wife. His eyes weren't even focused on the bird, instead watching the bundle in its beak. There was no way the situation could become any weirder.
Almost as if some higher power had heard his desperate words, Ron came barrelling into the ward, a massive grin on his face.
“Congratulations, mate! I came as soon as I could. Sorry ‘Mione couldn't come, she was held up at...” he froze when he saw the uninvited guest in the room. “Why is there a bloody stork in here? And why does it look like it has the muscles of a Hungarian Horntail stuffed onto its frame.”
For the first time, Harry noticed the bird's physique. He almost began hysterically when it finally registered. Ron's assessment wasn't so far off. The muscles on that particular bird could have put most bodybuilders to shame. Why did it need it, anyways? Did he actually have to... no. There was no fucking way. Fleur cleared her throat, clearly nervous about the next part. “Harry, the Veela have a tradition. Every time the females have a child, the baby is brought to us by a stork. However, the fathers have to prove their worth, no matter their race. They have to face the stork in unarmed combat, and if they win, they have permission to look after their child. If they lose, the mother will be forced to leave him, so that the child isn't sullied by such a weak man.”
Despite the outlandishness of the situation, Harry bristled at the words. He wasn't losing his wife and child to a fucking stork. He clenched his fists, ready to beat the bird into a pulp. At least he had something to take out his frustration on. But the mean look its eyes gave him pause, not to mention just how jacked the damn thing was.
“Is there anything else I need to know?” he hissed.
“Yes, you cannot use your legs in this match. It would be unfair, since it doesn't have so much strength in its lower limbs. Also, the two of you will be enclosed in a cage woven from raw magic. Neither can leave until one surrenders or is unable to continue. Also, you cannot kill it, nor can it kill you, but the rule is far looser for it than for you.”
What. the. Fuck. His mind was an inch away from shutting down due to the sheer ludicrousy of the situation. Ron wasn't faring much better, but somehow managed to pull himself together quickly.
“Don't stress it, mate. It doesn't sound so different from that muggle sport. Boxing, was it? Yeah, you showed me that movie series about it, some guy called Ricky.”
Rocky, Harry corrected mentally. Usually, he would have corrected Ron for messing up the name of one of his favourite movies, but at that moment, there were more important things on his mind.
Ron clapped his shoulder, a nervous smile on his face. “After all, what can it punch you with? Fleur said that it couldn't use its feet, and all it has after that are its wings. You’ve got this, mate, don't worry.”
He'd spoken too soon. Almost immediately, the infernal beast placed the bundle into Fleur's arms before cawing at his red-headed friend, almost as if it were offended by his words. A bright flash of light surrounded it's wings, only to reveal... Oh, you've got to be joking!
A pair of massive arms were present in place of its previous appendages, each one almost twice as large as Harry's own, substantial as they were from Auror training. The stork flexed its new weapons, since there was no other term he could use to describe them, before moving to the centre of the ward.
“Ah, well... that happened.” Ron tugged at his robes’ collar, loosening it around his sweaty neck. “Hey, Harry, you remember how I told you that if I could become anyone else, I would want to be you?”
Harry nodded. It had been one of the most gratifying things ever said to him. Coming from his best mate, it meant a lot.
“Well, I take that back. There’s no way I'm going up against that thing.”
“Thanks, Ron,” he grumbled. But he couldn't blame him. Seriously, the bird was a fucking beast.
He stepped forward, standing right before the stork. It was only at that moment he realized just how tall it was. His mind must have been too frazzled to notice before. The stork's head towered above his own, and he could tell its arms would have no problem reaching his face. A soft golden glow surrounded them, encasing them in an impenetrable cage. Instantly, he could see that he was in trouble. Unlike a regular boxing ring, the space present was barely five feet in diameter. He was well and truly fucked.
The stork raised its fists, waiting for him to meet them. He tapped his own to the larger hands of the avian, instantly able to tell that they were as hard as steel. His eyes widened, realizing that there were no gloves at all. Shit.
He saw the beak move, and he was ready for a derogatory caw. Yet instead, what came out was the past thing he expected: fully formed words, with a slight Russian accent.
“I must break you.”
Well, that wasn't ominous at all.
He couldn't even see the first punch. All he heard was a whoosh of air before what felt like a battering ram smashed into the side of his face. He was thankful that he had corrected his vision through magic, since his glasses definitely wouldn't have survived. Still, he almost fell face-first into the marble floor from the first punch alone.
The second punch sunk into his stomach, forcing all the air out in one massive gasp. He felt his stomach rebel against him, and it was a miracle that his lunch didn't come spewing out.
“Ouch. Harry's ancestors must have felt that one,” whispered Ron. Fleur could do nothing but nod in agreement, holding her child close.
Harry staggered slightly, his back coming into contact with the golden barrier. He instantly jerked forward as what felt like a thousand volts of electricity arced through his body, forcing him to stumble. Big mistake.
The stork unloaded hook after thunderous hook, repeatedly hitting his face. Honestly, he was surprised nothing had...
Snap. Oh well, there went his nose. He could fix it. Right now, he was too busy being pummelled by some fucking bird that appeared to have steroids instead of blood.
He planted his feet into the ground before unleashing his own punch towards the bird. His fist connected with its neck, and he felt a temporary sense of relief, knowing that he had cut off its air supply.
That spark of joy was instantly doused when his had felt as if he had hit it against a brick wall.
The stork cackled, the sound terrifying to his ears. Dear Merlin, he could still hear the Russian undertone in the sound. He knew the laugh was going to haunt his nightmares, far more than any of the tripe Moldyshorts had come up with. He was rewarded for that frightening revelation by another vicious punch to his gut.
Ron was wincing along with each blow. “Those are some serious punches. Really, what is Harry thinking.”
“He isn't,” responded Fleur. A gleam entered her eyes. “Harry, listen to me! Go for the ribs, don't let the bastard breathe!”
Harry heard her loud and clear, but executing her command was slightly more difficult than he wished. He managed to slip by its guard a couple of times, and his punches actually felt like they were doing something. Yet, it was far less than expected, maybe it was because of the bird's natural breathing system, or maybe it was because magic decided to screw him over once more. And every time he landed a punch, the stork responded with two massive haymakers.
Fleur watched as her husband tried to gain the upper hand against the unexpected adversary. After nearly two more minutes of him getting twice as much in return as he was dishing out, she felt that it was necessary to chip in once more. “Focus, Harry! Use you head. You got heart, but you fight like a god-damn ape!”
Hey, she stole that from Mickey. Harry didn't know why he went off on that tangent, but he paid for it with another uppercut. He almost toppled over, but managed to right himself in the nick of time. He stepped back, allowing himself a moment to recover and analyse his opponent. He could tell that the stork mainly attacked him head on. From what he could tell, the creature struggled to hit sideways, and took a bit of time to turn around. That was more than enough.
He moved in, his fists raised in defence. He always stayed to one side of the stork, switching in between with a speed he didn't know he had within him. For the first time, he had the thing on the ropes, in a sense. Every punch he delivered seemed to do more damage to the stork than the one before it, and he could tell that while it was a powerhouse, it was somewhat lacking in stamina.
He could almost taste victory when he accidentally stepped into the stork's zone. He only had the time to curse his luck before a ferocious punch caught him in the liver. He dropped like a stone, hitting the floor with a resounding thud.
Ron almost leapt towards the cage, while Fleur let loose an agonized wail. It physically hurt her to see the man she loved slumped on the ground, the stork standing over him in triumph. She hated the fact that this one particular tradition had slipped her mind.
She had simply believed it to be a joke, something to explain why her father looked so beat up when he returned with Gabriel from the hospital. When she had told Harry, she had withheld the fact that until that point, she herself hadn't believed it, and from what her mother told her, her father had to train for nearly two years before he was ready to face the dreaded stork.
Something within her snapped. She rounded on Harry, yelling at the top of her lungs. “Get up, you son of a bitch, because I love you! You're not getting away from me.”
She was thankful that Ron had already applied Muffliato on her child. There was no need to add a crying baby to the already chaotic mix. Letting it stay asleep wound do just fine, thank you very much.
The stork cocked its head towards her, an arrogant gleam in its eye. “If he dies, he dies.” Damn, that bloody Russian accent wasn't going away, was it?
Harry gasped for air, knowing that he had already been down for five seconds. He had to get up. Unbidden, one of his favourite lines popped into his mind. It ain't about how hard you can hit. It's about how hard you can get hit and keep moving forward.
He lurched to his feet, a plan in mind. The stork squawked in surprise, for once losing the Russian accent. It eyed him with those beady eyes, before lunging forward once more.
He rolled with the punches, allowing it to hit him over and over. But somehow, he ensured that none of those punches hit a critical area. For once, his plan was working, and he damn well wasn't about to lose now. “C'mon, champ, hit me in the face. My mom hits harder than that.” He silently apologized to his mother's soul for doing that, but his ploy worked. The stork was becoming sloppy in its movements, exerting far too much energy in each punch, with most of the power being wasted.
“What is he doing,” cried Fleur. “He's getting killed!”
“No,” replied Ron, recognizing what his friend was doing. “He's getting mad.”
Finally, the moment came. The stork overextended too much in one of its punches, giving him the opportunity to lash out. His fist connected with the side of its head, staggering it for the first time. He could see the shock in its face, and he relished it.
Another of his punches caught it in the side of its ribs, sending a heavy jolt through it. To his utter surprise, he could feel one of the bones snap under his fist, almost as if the previous endurance had completely drained away. He would have felt bad, but then again the same bird had been beating him mercilessly for what felt like an eternity.
His punches came in quick and heavy, never letting up. The stork was forced backward, colliding with the golden barrier. In a repeat of what had earlier occurred to him, the bird jerked as a jolt of electricity surged through it, leaving it dazed.
He planted his feet, delivering a powerful right hook to the face. He could almost hear the crowd shrieking behind him as the bird stumbled, unable to recover. He delivered another thunderous hook, almost causing it to topple over. He could tell victory was just around the corner.
His final punch was probably the most powerful and exhausting one he had ever delivered in his life. The second it connected, the stork's eyes rolled up into its skull before it collapsed in a boneless heap. He stood over it, panting. He had won. He had won.
Another bright light filled the room, forcing him to shut his eyes. When he opened them, he saw that the stork had disappeared, taking the gold cage along with it. He breathed a sigh of relief. It was finally over.
He hobbled over to the bed, feeling the soreness spread all over his body. Ron winced when he saw him. “You look like shite, mate,” the man whispered.
Harry didn't care. He could easily fix it with a visit to the healers. After all they were in the same building. At the moment, he only had eyes for the blond beauty before him, along with the small bundle in her arms.
Fleur gave him a weak smile, prompting him to give one in return. It may have hurt like a bitch, but Merlin, there was no way he could ever refuse his wife.
“I love you,” he whispered, “but I don't think I'm ready for another child yet. When we return to the bedroom, I need you to be on the charm.” She didn't even comment on him saying when and not if.
His hand slowly reached out to move the cover of the blanket away, and what he saw inside instantly latched herself on to his heart. Within the soft confines of the blanket was a face that he knew he would love for the rest of his life, with a tiny tuft of silvery-blond hair, the same as her mother's. He didn't know how he was aware of her gender; it was almost instinctual.
“She's beautiful,” he whispered. Fleur simply nodded, her eyes locked onto the baby with just as much adoration as his. “Lily. Lily Apolline Potter. For both our mothers.” Fleur smiled. “I love it. Now we just need the birth certificate to make it official.”
Harry nodded, but then stopped in his tracks. It seemed odd how the medical staff had suddenly vanished from their ward. “Speaking about that, where are the healers?”
In the very next room, a number of healers sat huddled together, watching the proceedings through a one-way mirror.
“So, who wants to tell him that we saw the whole thing,” asked the senior-most healer.
“After seeing what he did to that stork?” asked a French transfer. “I'd rather go get a Veela pregnant.”