Flowerpot

Harry ends up with a cauldron full of Felix Felicis potion inside his system (which should have been a lethal dose). His saving grace? The basilisk venom having acclimated his body to poisons, so instead of a whodunit, we have a drugged up Harry who feels utterly invincible.

Unlike other cases of the potion inducing a lethal accident, his resistance sets him up for the greatest of time of his life. Only issue? He has no clue why he needs to go buy a shovel and a tarp.

I really liked the idea of someone trying to poison Harry and instead let Harry fix his life.

For as long as Harry could remember, he knew his name as Freak. During his primary days, he would only respond to the word freak, and nothing else, he didn’t say much, but when he did, he said one word, “Apathy.”

This trend ostracized from everybody at Hogwarts, that was until fourth year, when he met someone with blue eyes and blond hair, she asked for a dish he couldn’t name, and then she asked for his name. His response: “I am nobody, who are you? Are you nobody too?”

If Fleur was like Calypso from the Odyssey but in the 14th century

Lightning arced across the sky, illuminating for a brief instant an endless expanse of a violently churning sea. Only the white-capped waves indicated the boundary between the charcoal waters and the ashen clouds, and the two planes were united by a constant deluge of rain.

This seemingly infinite seascape hosted a single anomaly; two hundred and twenty tons, two great masts, a tradeship out of Inverness that was equally equipped for war. She was Nimbus, she had not made port in over four months, and her crew was either weak, bedridden, or stowed in the cargo bay in the faint hope that they would find graves on dry land.

Only two men were on deck at the moment- the bowsprit lookout, Cormac of Glasgow, and the ship’s captain himself, Harry Potter.

“You’re relieved, Cormac. Go below and get some sleep.”

Sleep. Foolish for me to sleep now.

The lookout merely nodded, the gray seas reflected in the dull sheen of his eyes and the exhaustion in his countenance.

Harry took a deep breath, tasting the air. He glanced at the sea, searching for a hint of green seaweed. Yet again, he found himself disappointed; they were nowhere near land.

*Six days. If we don’t find land in six days we’ll all be dead. *

The gale tore at him, the winds and the heavy rocking of the ship itself threatening to topple him into the freezing depths. However, this was not his maiden voyage- indeed he had been tied to the sea since he could walk, and as long as the wood beneath his feet held he would not be meeting his maker.

Almost as if in response to his thoughts, Nimbus groaned as another wave crashed against her bow and the masts creaked in protest.

Best not tempt the gods, whomever they may be.

When Albus had gathered this crew together as a last ditch effort to find allies in the war against Lord Voldemort, Harry had known it to be a fool’s errand. Would it not be better to stand and fight? To die facing evil with honour like so many good men had before them? Curse Albus and his insistence on hope against the odds.

However, his loyalty to the man had outweighed his pride, and he along with three hundred and seventy two straggling survivors of the Province of Hogwarts had embarked while their homeland was conquered. The islands were under the dominion of the Dark Lord now, and the continent had proved itself hostile as well. So they had sailed west.

*So tired. *

A minute shift in the air, an almost imperceptible change in shapes of the waves. Raindrops froze for a moment as Harry’s weary mind bolted to action before he consciously knew what was happening. He found himself sprinting to the wheel, navigating the shifting deck with ease.

“REEEEEEEF! ALL ON DECK! ALL ON DECK! MAN THE MASTS, WE NEED ROPES!”

Shadows started piling out of the doorway to the cabins, stumbling to their stations and groggily tying the necessary knots; for many this was their first time at sea, and though they had learned much over the previous months, they had never before dealt with a situation of this ilk.

Just a hundred yards.

*Goddamn it. Too slow. *

*Still have to try. *

“ON MY MARK! STARBOARD! THREE! TWO! ONE! HEEEEAAAAVE!”

With his warcry he spun the wheel to the right as hard as he could while his men pulled at the ropes. With a screech, Nimbus strained to obey the commands of her captain. The bow dipped just as a mighty wave struck the portside, and currents of raging water tore across the deck.

Screams broke through the chaos of the storm, and half a dozen men lost their footing. Harry locked eyes with Creevey moments before the younger man was taken by the waves and flung off the side, an unholy look of terror burning itself in the captain’s gut. Still, he held firm, his body shaking at the effort of keeping the ship on its trajectory.

He could hear the voice of Neville, his first mate, “HOLD, YOU SONS OF BITCHES, HOLD!”

Fifty yards.

We may make it.

Indeed, the wave that had wreaked havoc on his men had also aided in the ship’s swinging turn. Still, his hairs stood on end, his mind raced. Something was still horribly wrong.

CRAAAACK.

Like the trunk of a great tree brought down by a lightning strike, the mast’s demise played out in slow motion; it bellowed out in mourning as it tilted on its axis and began its descent. The men wise enough to let go of the ropes were now at the mercy of a slippery ship thrown off kilter, while those unlucky souls that hung on were caught in the riggings as they were flung upward. Well. We’re fucked.

Harry was flung from the wheel, and the back of his head collided with the railing surrounding his perch. The last thing he saw before losing consciousness was the mast of the Nimbus crashing into the sea, and the men that he had failed to save flailing against the storm.

XXX

Sand.

The shock of the nearly-forgotten feeling of earth was enough to rouse Harry from his slumber, and he took in heaving breaths, squinting at the bright sunlight in his eyes.

I’m alive.

His mouth was dry as the sand that surrounded him, his head pounded like thunder, but he was alive. He slowly sat up, battling his exhaustion yet intent on scoping out his surroundings, but a sharp gasp of surprise captured his attention.

He could only let out a gasp of his own.

Before him stood the most beautiful woman he had ever seen; her hair emanated the essence of starlight on a clear night, her eyes blue as the most tranquil of seas. Her face was striking, avian features softened by full lips that were drawn in an expression of caution. Her angelic features extended to the great, feathery wings half-extended behind her back, as if preparing to escape should he make the wrong move.

Wait. Wings? She has wings.

His head spinning, he fell back against the sand and the sunlight began to fade again.

Where am I?

Hey guys I have a fic idea. If someone has done it I haven’t seen it. Also if you are writing one it may be a cool premise. What if Harry was a wandlore prodigy and could alter his wand for temporary power or a advantage in a subject. Or incorporate other substances into his wand that would have the impact of a potion giving him extreme power with potential to hurt himself with his spells volatility and make substances be difficult to acquire like fresh dragon heart or something. If you do use it make the fic Harry/fleur lol

It had been nine years since the battle of hogwarts, nine years since Gabrielle's sister had returned shaking from a battle with monsters, she and her husband having visited France for a time to excape the memories. It had been nine years since magical britain, the last of the great wizarding aristocracies, had at last crumbled under the weight of revolution. It had fallen harder than most, having risen higher than any other it had experienced a correspondingingly cataclysmic fall. It had also been nine years since Harry potter had disappeared.

He was still in contact with his closest friends, family in truth, but none knew where he was. He had long since mastered concealment, and none would find him if he did not wish to be found. No one knew why he had left save those he had directly told, and those he had did not speak. Her sister was among them, Harry had been grateful for her and her husband's aid, and had maintained contact with them with the promise of aid should it ever be needed. Harry Potter held his own debts, if not those of others, and any who had aided him in his time of need could be assured that he would repay them. Gabrielle had once, in the midst of youthful infatuation, been dearly jealous of her sister and the debt Harry owed her, but no longer.

She had been obsessed with Harry ever since he pulled her from the Black lake of Hogwarts when she was 12. Her infatuation had only grown with time, and after the war she had been desperately excited to have a chance to meet him. Doing so had seen her obsession die.

He had not been cruel, nor unkind. He had done nothing to dissuade her, and in fact the truth of him had seemed objectively better than fiction. It was the aura around him. She had found him after the memorial, a brief gap in the celebrations, a chance to remember those that had fallen. They were there to remember the dead, but all present seemed only concerned with living free. She could not blame them, no one could. They had lived in terror, and now their terror was relieved. They were jubilant, all of them. All save one.

She had found Harry standing alone by a window, looking out to the horizon. She had not spoken to him, she had only witnessed his face in the reflection on the glass. That was enough. He remembered. Every moment, every face, every name. He remembered, and he bore their memory. He carried on his back the weight of the countless dead, and he stood unbowed by the burden. It had been a shock to her to see him there, calm in peace despite the weight upon him, yet the presence of him banished any childish crush she might have had. Harry was a true hero, and true heroes seldom had cause to smile.

She had felt foolish, her feelings to him seemed infantile. She had spoken to him, thanking him as others had, but apologizing as well. For what she hadn't been sure, but looking back she knew it was because she was sorry that she didn't have the strength to help bear the load. She had left then, and she had changed. Gone was the child, and she was filled with determination. She had spent her every waking moment in pursuit of the strength to bear those burdens. Harry had inspired her, and she sought to make a world where no one had to be like him ever again. A world where no one bore the memories alone. She had lost herself along the way. She had spent so much time working towards her life that she forgot to live. It was what lead her here.

She was in a train station in the middle of the French countryside, twenty-one and already oh so weary. Her best friend, her last friend, had not spoken to her in two months. There had been no fight, there had been nothing at all. Gabrielle had just, stopped asking at some point. Her friend had not pursued her, Gabi had never given her a reason to do so.

She wandered the station disconsolately, despairing at the road she had taken. That was when she found him. He was standing on the platform, dressed in jeans, boots, and a brown canvas jacket, a backpack by his feet, Harry Potter.

He had found her, calling her out from the crowd, and she had come. He had looked at her with a soft, sad smile and a twinkle in his eye , and he had asked why she had no reason to smile. She had no answer, and tears had slipped down her cheeks. Harry had taken her hand in his and beckoned her to follow. They got aboard a train, a cargo train, and had settled down in an old shipping container. She had not asked where she was going, she had not asked why she was there, she had asked only one thing.

"Who are you Harry Potter?"

He had spoken softly as he guided her on to better places unknown, his eyes radiating peace and his smile radiating wisdom.

"I'm just the station man."

The idea for this is that Harry has sought peace on the railways of Europe. A wandering wise man doing all he can to help others to the peace he has found, he walks the rails and rides the trains and helps those in need. He encounters Gabrielle one day, worn down form the life she chose, and offers a hand and a smile, leading her on to better things just as he has so many others.

I imagine Harry gravitates to trains after the peace he found in the crossroads of Kings Cross Station, and now he helps others to peace on the rails as well. He doesnt do it in england for the sole reason that Gabi doesn't live there, and that makes it harder to get them together.

Inspired by: The Lone Wolf and Cub film series and manga.

Lord James Potter escapes the destruction of Potter Manor after witnessing the murder of his beloved wife, the Lady Lily, by Voldemort and his dark followers. Framed for the crime, James Potter escapes into the countryside with his 3-year old son, Harry James. The former Lord vows revenge against those who destroyed his family. James Potter; aided by a cart charmed and loaded with a variety of Muggle and Magical weaponry, decimates those who stand in his way of righteous vengeance.

Sir Harry, a knight errant, finds a particularly beautiful falcon wounded near a forest. He quickly gains the bird’s trust and takes it along, taking care of it on the way.

The bird watches Sir Harry with uncanny intelligence and the lonely knight soon finds himself talking to the bird, finding a better listener in an animal than in many a human.

The bird’s injury took a long time to heal and so it accompanied the knight on several quests that tested his valour, combat prowess, but also his quick wit, character, and keen mind.

Eventually, reluctantly, Harry bid goodbye to his avian friend when the injury healed, and set out on another quest, alone again.

When his journey takes him back to a village he had helped in the past, he is invited to a feast and dance and he surprises himself by accepting. The hosts are warm and graceful and he finds himself relaxing. Imagine his surprise when a lady appears at the dance, obviously not from the village. She is graceful and radiant, and bids him to dance. None of the villagers seem to see her, and she leads him to dance under the stars.

No words are exchanged in those spellbound moments and only when the stars start to fade with the coming dawn, the pair separate. With an enigmatic smile, she whispers into his ear.

“Close your eyes.”

Even through his eyelids he sees the flash of bright light. When he opens his eyes, the lady is gone, only a feather is floating in the air.

A familiar feather, the likes of which he saw every day.

And Sir Harry smiles, for another adventure begins.

Fleur moves in wizarding high society, often gathering a combination of lustful stares, sneers of contempt and looks of envy. Always sharply dressed, with impeccable manners, calm, collected and with a razor-sharp tongue. She enjoys setting trends, like when she arrived unannounced and saw that the previously sneering (b)witches copied her style from the previous ball. Aside from turning heads and causing stirs, she collects information, pieces of salacious gossip, fragments of scandals. From time to time she also runs into Harry Potter, who often causes stirs, moving against traditionalists, going on adventures.

That is how Society sees them both.

During the War, Harry and Fleur started working together, both collecting information, sharing them, going together on expeditions and hits, eliminating the worst scum of wizardry.

sFleur derives vindictive pleasure from seeing the shocked looks, when she arrives unannounced, based on information provided by Harry. After the latest Ball, Fleur sits in their shared home, legs spread, Harry devotedly worshipping her core, her hand entagled in is messy locks. She contemplates the devoted look in his eyes, as he follows her whispered commands. Of all the things she did during the War, earning Harry’s complete trust, becoming close to him to such a degree, she cherishes that the most. Only with her, Harry expresses his absolute trust, with her he is capable of absolute surrender. She cherishes him, adores him, loves him, she is his Lady, he her Chevalier. This trust is fragile, yet absolute.

If anybody tried to come between them, break their trust, she would tear them apart, scorch the remains until only charred bone fragments remained. She knows it would be far more merciful than if Harry got to them first.

Due to her heritage, Fleur has grown up with a lingering paranoia that borders on generational trauma. Veela are, and always will be, perceived a "certain way," that makes her skin crawl and keeps her up at night sometimes. Then the Triwizard Tournament was announced, and she saw it as a way to prove to herself that she wasn't, and never would be, a victim.

And then she came last in the first task.

And then she spent the entirety of the Yule Ball struggling to ignore the countless eyes running up and down her body.

And then she was dragged under the lake by Gringlylows, their tiny claws popping her bubblehead charm and stealing her breath away, and when she finally made it back to the surface she had a bone chilling realization.

They had taken her wand.

Headmaster Dumbledore had summoned it with a flick of his own wand less than five minutes after she realized it was missing and she had been safely reunited with it, but the chill that ran down her spine at the realization that she was completely helpless without that slim stick of wood was enough to interfere with her sleep for days.

And then, when walking down a corridor, she heard something that made her heart leap into her throat.

Harry Potter, her fellow champion and the one who had rescued her sister from the lake when she couldn't, talking to his friends about dodging punches and outrunning someone named Piers Polkiss.

She began eavesdropping immediately.

She learned many things about Harry Potter then that she would never have guessed.

She learned that he had been raised by muggles, that they were not kind to him and that he had needed to find other ways to survive, and that he had done it all without magic.

Fleur is paranoid about losing her wand and overhears Harry talking about learning to fight back against Dudley's boxing the muggle way, then asks him to train her to defend herself without magic in case she ever loses her wand again.

Ron and Hermione get involved too. Hermione by researching muggle self defense theory so that they have a clue what they're doing, Ron by applying his athletics fanaticism to Harry and Fleur’s training.

Fleur has discovered Harry's weakness. He may be resistant to her Veela charms, but she can lure him in with a good pot of cassoulet.

Operation "Seduce 'Arry" is ready to begin!

Pre-GoF

Fleur accidentally spills coffee all over the shirt of the dark-haired green eyed teen on the streets of London. She does not know he is a wizard or Harry Potter since his scar is covered.

So instead of magically cleaning it, she immediately takes out some money for dry cleaning and offers it to him.

Harry, the polite chap that he is, refuses, since he'll just clean it himself.

Fleur becomes more and more adamant, until she begins freaking him out.

Dudley was right, crazy hot girls are crazy... He thought, as he remembered overhearing his cousin.

Panicking at the situation, as well as all the people who've begun to stare.

He makes a run for it, with Fleur hot on his heels.

He escapes... For now...

Little did he know, the crazy girl will be at Hogwarts this coming year.

It's Castaway, HP edition! Harry has to survive in a state of nature and is isolated from civilization. Maybe he has his wand and the fic is a fun adventure of him journeying through the scenario as if it were symbolic of independence and self-determination where he feels liberated by both being forced to fend for himself and only being responsible for his own being.

Maybe it's a gritty story of human versus nature where he loses his wand and has to overcome his obstacles by his wit with the only magic he can use being limited potions and whatever power he can summon up from deep within himself, and he comes out the other side changed and more confident but no one in the ordinary wizarding world can relate to the experience as they have been so dependent on conventional magic and wands that they have lost sight of their own power to self-determine and survive.

Maybe it's an emotion story where Harry has been running from his problems and is metaphorically forced to turn around and face them as he is trapped alone on a deserted island with nothing but himself for company, and its not until he faces his problems that he's able to come out the other side. There's all kinds of things you could do, and it's not really something that has been done before. Supporting characters could be present or not, Fleur is the obvious choice here, but Luna or Neville would be good as well.

After an eventful and wonderful wedding night, Harry carried Fleur to their room where they would consumate their wedding. In the middle of the room, Harry noticed a metal pole that went from the floor to the top of the ceiling. Confused, Harry looked at Fleur who smiled seductively. She slowly began to undress herself as Harry's eyes bulged and his jaw felt like it was going to drop to the floor. Reaching the pole, Fleur began to do the routine that she had been practicing for several weeks as Harry's eyes followed her every move.

Fleur is from a long line of Fae nobility whose task was to protect Northern Brocéliande. Her father was one of the Warden of Brocéliande and fought to protect it from intruders, a formidable Fae knight. Fleur, however, was more inclined to artistic pursuits and healing. And so it was decided that she would marry a knight who would become a Warden in her place.

Her father selected Sir Draco of the prestigious House Malfoy. It was a marriage of convenience, but Draco enjoyed the prestige of being the lord of his own castle, and having a pretty Fae wife. Unbeknownst to Fleur’s family, he had placed an important artefact of the dark sorcerer Voldemort in their forest, thus helping safeguard Voldemort’s immortality.

Time went on, and Fleur’s father died of a mysterious illness, and Draco took over as head of the family. Then, one day, alarums rang, as there was an intruder in the forest. Sir Draco had to ride off to drive off the intruder.

Sir Harry is on a quest to find and destroy the means Voldemort used to achieve immortality. He has tracked one of the artefacts into Northern Brocéliande. Suddenly, a mage-knight in green and silver armour is storming at him. A fierce duel ensues, but it is Sir Draco who falls, cut down, with a fragment from the tip of Sir Harry’s sword embedded in his skull.

Wounded and weary, Sir Harry continues his search and finds the artefact. He manages to destroy it, but the magical discharge wounds him further and knocks him out. He is found by Fleur, who had to set off after her husband had failed to return. She felt the magical discharge and had to investigate.

She takes care of the wounded Sir Harry at her castle and finds herself charmed by his handsome features. When they talk, her heart stirs.

But then she makes a discovery. The shard from her husband’s skull perfectly fits onto Sir Harry’s damaged sword.

Fleur is conflicted, especially as her impish sister suggests that who better to marry and make the Warden than the one who had slain the previous Warden…

Harry Potter writes a best selling book, titled "One hundred and Thirteen things Fleur Delacour is no longer allowed to do."

The list starts with:

1. Set Katie Bell's Hair on fire, for any reason....

Prompt: Harry and Fleur got together anytime before the Battle of Hogwarts.

Fleur Veela-bonded to Harry. As a result and unbeknown to him her life is now linked to his. So when he dies taking Voldemort’s killing curse in the forest, she dies too. And she is the one meeting him on Platform 9¾ (instead of Dumbledore). What will they say to each other?

The objective of this prompt is to take the above tropes, and write a story that makes them good.

Step one, set it in the middle ages. The modern setting isn't too impactful on the plot of HP anyway, so it won't be hard.

The world, including the wizarding one, is ruled by a feudal system with a house of lords. The wizengamot, also known as the house of merlin, is a progressive union comprised of the most influential houses of wizarding britain, along with their vassals. It represents the first step towards unified government in wizarding history, and is tasked with the creation and enforcement of law.

It has been 200 years since Merlin's death, and 200 years since his dream of a unified muggle/magical world died with him. Voldemort rises, not on a tide of pureblood supremacy, but on a swell of twisted idealism. He is a manipulative monster solely interested in power, but the platform he he builds is made on the premise that the muggle world must be subjugated for it's own good, that they will tear themselves apart without the guidance of wizards. It still treats muggles as lesser, but instead of like tainted animals it considers them like foolish, dissapointing children. .

Voldemort's rise to power was the first major test of the unity of magical britain since Merlin's death, and was a bloody affair. Many houses were ended, and many more brought low. The house of Potter was one such house, long a vassal they rose by the greatness of others and had gained independance as little as 50 years before Voldemort's rise, in the wake of the war Harry is the only survivor if his house, hidden away after Voldemort's death he returns to the magical world as no one. He is not the saviour, nor a villain, merely another victim. Voldemort was not known to be vanquished by the potters, even though that is what happened, but dissapeared without a trace. His followers collapsed, though some await his return, and the wizarding world is suspended as if in the intermission between acts of a play.

Sickly and frail, Harry Potter is overlooked and underestimated, but while his body is weak his mind is sharp as a blade. He is a good person, but not naiive, and he views the world as defined by the desires of others, and morality as a luxury to be excercised as often as possible, but only when practical. His family rose to prominence by connection to others, and those ties bind him still. Harry knows nothing of politics, and is considered to be nothing by many, but he will rise. He will use whatever scraps of influence or pity he can, any claim, any relation, any agreement, any shred of alliance he can to rise from ignominy.

Harry is raised a peasant and treated as one would an orphan bastard. Vernon is a carpenter, and hates Harry not because of his unnaturalness, (the supernatural was far more accepted back then) but because he small and frail and cannot contribute to the household. Petunia loved her sister, but was embittered to the world that took her from her, and is held backfrom being close to her sisters son by the regrets of her past and by the lingering hatred of the world he represents. Dudley was not unkind to him, but he was always needed elsehwere as the only other able bodied person in a four person household. So Harry grew in solitude, in resentment, and in impotent desperation. He will do anything to be something more than what he is, and when the wizarding world comes along with the opportunity to rise above his limits and pay back the debt he owes to his family he graps it with both fragile hands.

Harry Potter was not taught their ways, nor their games, but he will learn and he will rise. If there is war then all the better, for there is no better time to rise above one's station than when the whole world is on the brink of bloodshed. Voldemort returns and is quietly focused on revenge, but does his best not to let it be known how he was defeated.

Part 1

Auror Captain Harry Potter was somewhere between fucking pissed, horrified, and ‘Blow the top off a mountain’ angry. As his team moved deeper into the headquarters of the prostitution ring, hidden below a church in Bristol, the more his anger intensified. People, captured and broken, to be sold to the highest bidder. Staring with dead eyes and desperate to be ‘good’. Terrified of disobeying their captors, they were from every age and race, from shivering, terrified four year olds, to still, obedient young men and women. All normal people, ripped from their homes and lives, broken and abused and trained by the monsters who ran the ring, treated as merchandise, to be sold across the world to rich and powerful buyers. It sickened him.

Part 2

Every cell they passed, every abductee they freed, made him itch to kill something. Preferably messily. Even his team members, nine men and women he would have gladly laid down his life for at any second, who he’d eat with, bunked with, partied with, and lived with, were apprehensive of getting anywhere close to him. They’d seen an angry Harry Potter once before. They still had nightmares. Finally, Harry and his strike team, Angelina Johnson, Henry Avery and Drew Flynn-fletcher, rounded the final corner into an expansive hallway. The end of which was adorned by the ornate doors of the main office. Harry, pretty much steaming at this point, gave the order to blow the door. Smoke and shrapnel exploded inward from the breach point and he stepped in. The smugglers never stood a chance. As the backup team entered, sweeping the room and escorting the detained leaders off the premises into auror custody, Harry noticed a door in one corner of the room. It to a bare room, consisting primarily of a large cell. A cell, in which was huddled a single, female figure.

He opened the cell door. At the crack of the hinges, the evidently naked young woman flinched sharply, scrambling back to a corner, repeating, “22 is a good girl. 22 is a good girl!” Eyes widening in shock, Harry crouched down, his hands held out placatingly, palms facing the girl. He slowly edged forward, speaking softly, “Hey there. Hi. My name is Harry. I’m with the aurors, ok? We’re here to get you out of here. There’s no need to be scared. I wont hurt you. i promise.” Trembling, she glanced at him, giving him his first full view of a gorgeous face, obviously of french descent, framed by silvery blond hair and complemented by her svelte build. Yet what entranced Harry were her eyes. Beautiful cerulean, dull and broken, but for the briefest moment, hopeful.

Part 3

At the entrance to the church, in the Auror perimeter, she clung to him, wearing only his jacket and wrapped in a blanket, eyes fearfully glancing about the proceedings as the smugglers were taken away, and other released captives escorted by Aurors. He sat her down by one of the ornate, stained glass windows of the chapel. Crouching down in front of her, he spoke softly, taking her hands in his, drawing her attention away fromher fascinated staring at the patterned glass, a stab of anger passing through him as she flinched at the contact, “Hey there. It's going to be okay, you hear me? You’re safe now. Free. We’re not going to let them get their hands on you again. Any of you.” She nodded shyly, still unable to meet his eyes. “What’s your name?” Her beautiful eyes widened, before she replied in a trembling voice, “22.” “22?” She nodded again, her body stiffening up abruptly, blue eyes wide in terror. “22! 22 is sorry! 22 is a good girl! Please dont leave 22!” He shushed her, thumbs rubbing the back of her hands in soft, calming motions till she relaxed, slowly, “Dont worry. I’m not leaving you. Just…. 22 isnt much of a name, is it? How about we give you a new one? One that you want.” She nodded, slowly. He glanced around, his eyes landing on the stained glass imagery she had been staring at. A field of flowers. “Do you like flowers?” Her eyes widened, darting to the same window he had just glanced at. She nodded, biting her lip. “Since you’re french… how does Fleur sound? Do you like it?” She blinked, before whispering, “Yes.” Harry smiled at her, “well then. Its nice to meet you Fleur.” The smile she gave him, tentative though it was, was in his eyes the brightest, most beautiful thing he had ever seen. It was then that he realised: He would do anything to protect that smile.

TLDR: And AU where harry is an auror, and rescues a certain beautiful, silvery blond, young french woman from a prostitution ring, and helps her along her path of healing.

So...A bit of a fun/cute idea... But a Malfoy-raised Harry (good!Lucius, obvs), having a nack for dancing.

Especially for dances of the older era, I.E: Swing, Cha Cha, Lindy Hop, etc.

Now, Harry would be going to Ivermony, and would replace Durmstang in the Triwizard Tournement.

I also like the idea of the other schools basically choosing their champions before they even left, either by raffle or by competition.

Now, to get back to the dancing part, Harry would be the one to ask Fluer first, and due to his ability to throw off her Alure, she would say yes.

At the ball, after the First dance, Harry would win her over, with different dances, from different countries.

For me personally, i would say that Voldemort stayed dead, when he tried splitting his soul again that Halloween night.

Prepects.

Some say they’re the Messengers of Heaven, others that they are the Harbingers of Hell.

But all agree that when they arrive, it foreshadows the coming of a Reckoning. For the higher powers do not like it when their world is messed with. Basically precepts are The precepts are essentialy beings that appear as warnings from Magic/ Gods that humans are seriously fucking up. They are also hella powerful, and exempt from magical laws.

There are 8 major ones, in 4 pairs: Pain/Pleasure, Hope/Despair, Loss/Gain and Order/ Chaos.

Harry is the reincarnation of the Precept of pain, while Fleur is the precept of Pleasure.

They’re slowly awakening their powers and memories, and the more they use their power, the faster they awaken. This will eventually ramp up to really powerful characters, but the enemies they face will also be much, much stronger.