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"Initial here, here, here, and sign here," the man behind the counter said, pointing at each section on the paper, Harry following his instructions without question. After Harry finished, the man grabbed the clipboard and took the sheet, fed it into the scanner, and placed the physical copy in a box labeled 'Signed.'
"Do you take cash?"
The man gave a good natured laugh and looked back.
"Son, this is a jail. Half the people that get bailed out of here get done so in cash. So yeah, we take cash."
Harry slid the money over the counter and the man grabbed it, counting it out before dropping it into a pouch.
He pointed at the row of seats beyond Harry.
"You can wait out there. Your friend will be released shortly."
Harry nodded and sat in one of the vacant seats, his leg bouncing up and down as he watched the door, waiting for it to open. The call had been late, waking Harry with a start, fumbling in the dark for his phone. He only let a few numbers through his do not disturb setting when he slept, so if his phone was ringing, it was important.
Being woken up to your friend saying they had been arrested and needed to be bailed out was not a way to be put in a good mood.
Though with the way Ron had been acting the last several weeks, he probably shouldn't have been surprised.
Eventually, the doors opened and Ron walked through. Harry could see he didn't look well. His hair was a mess, his eyes bloodshot, and his shirt had been torn on the side. He didn't say anything when he caught sight of Harry, simply averting his eyes as he kept walking towards the exit, slipping on his jacket as he went. Harry followed, a mixture of concern and anger.
They walked for a while in silence, Ron offering no explanation and Harry still concerned, yet his irritation was building. Ron had always been one for a good time, but never one to get arrested, never one to take it too far. He'd always told Harry he knew when to reel it in, to trust him, which is why Harry always did. They'd fought a few nights ago, after Ron had shown up at Harry's drunk, a state that he had seen Ron in more often these days.
At the very least, Ron seemed to have sobered up enough to talk.
"Going to explain?" Harry asked as they made their way back towards campus. Ron shrugged with an unconcerned look.
"Just drop it Harry."
"No, I'm not going to drop it, I think I deserve to know why I'm bailing my best friend out of jail. Why you've been an absolute ass the last couple weeks. Why you're drinking so damn much," Harry shot back.
"I said drop it, Harry. If I wanted someone to nag me I'd have called my mum."
"For fucks sake Ron, I'm not nagging you, I'm trying to understand. That was half my damn savings for the month I spent bailing you out. For what? Drunk and disorderly conduct? Ron, you punched the man when he tried to restrain you!"
Ron stopped and glared at Harry.
"I'll pay you back on Saturday," he growled and Harry sighed.
"It's not about the money, Ron."
"Then what is it, Harry? I just want to go back to my room and sleep, so what do you want me to say that will shut you up?" The red head yelled, holding his arms wide.
"Ron, you showed up at my place a few nights ago drunk off your ass and that's not the first time you've been like that recently. You've been downright terrible company lately. Then tonight you get arrested for starting a fight in a pub. Are you trying to get kicked off the team? Or kicked out of school completely?"
"Why is that any of your business, Harry? You're not my mum or my dad, so stop acting like it!"
Ron began to walk away, having had enough of the conversation but Harry wasn't ready to let it drop.
"I'm trying to help Ron!"
"I don't need your help!"
"Oh yeah, just walk away. Like you always do," Harry said mockingly, knowing he was crossing a line but doing so anyway. "Ron Weasley, never able to take responsibility for anything. Better to let your older brothers and well connected dad handle the mess left in your wake, is that it?"
Ron stopped and turned, striding the few paces until he was towering over Harry, malice in his eyes. Harry wouldn't back down, and he wasn't afraid of Ron. He'd known Ron since he was 11, the two having been best friends almost from their first meeting. Ron was intimidating, his large frame dwarfing Harry's, but Harry wasn't afraid if they came to blows. They'd done so in the past, petty childhood fights being what they were, so he wouldn't back down.
"Saint bloody Potter, always up on his high horse. Harry Potter, the good student who can do no wrong. Yeah, well that "well connected dad" is the whole reason you're even here," Ron said. Confusion crossed Harry's face and Ron laughed, the sort of laugh someone gives when they're happy at someone else's misery. "Bet you didn't know that, did you?"
"What are you talking about, Ron?"
"Your grades weren't enough. I wanted to go to school with my best mate so I asked my dad to make a recommendation to the administration. That's the only reason you're here."
Harry expected to be angry at the words, that white hot rage would fill his vision, like the gentle drip of a leaky faucet bursting at the seams. Instead, there was only hurt. Hurt and shame.
An invisible hand grabbed Harry's heart and squeezed, making him gasp as the air was forcibly pushed from his lungs.
He should be angry. Furious even.
Instead, it felt like betrayal.
"Fuck you, Ron," was all he said before turning around and walking away.
He headed in the general direction of the bus station, and he knew Ron wouldn't follow.
At that moment, a memory came to him from when he first moved into his place. When Ron was helping him get the mattress into the room. There hadn't been much in the way of belongings, just some clothes, comics, and a handful of things given to him by the Weasley's or Hermione, but he had needed help with the mattress.
"I don't get it Harry," Ron said as he lifted the mattress so they could bring it up the stairs. "Why not live in the dorms? They provide most of this stuff."
Harry shook his head.
"Because I want to make it on my own, Ron. I want to prove to myself that I can do it," he said as they lowered the mattress onto the box spring. No room for a frame, of course, but Molly had insisted he keep the mattress off the floor at least. He looked up at Ron.
"I got into college, the college of my choice, on my own. I want to prove to myself that I can live on my own too."
Ron grinned at him before pulling him into a headlock and mussing his hair.
"My little bro, getting all smart and college-y on me! I told you that you could do it, oh ye of little faith!"
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"Harry, you're burning the pastries again," said Daphne, breaking Harry's concentration, cursing under his breath as he pulled the burnt desserts out of the oven. She shot him a concerned look as he dumped the latest batch into the trash and went to the walk-in.
"You and Ron still not talking then, huh?" she asked as he came back to the pastry station, fresh dough in hand. "And he hasn't been back to your flat since?"
"Apartment," he corrected.
Daphne rolled her eyes.
"Does the word really matter?" she asked, receiving a shrug in reply.
"No, haven't seen him since the night I bailed him out." Harry sighed. "We've never been mad at each other for this long, but I'm not going to apologize to him. Call me stubborn."
Daphne rang up a customer's purchase then turned back towards him.
"Sounds like you're both stubborn, if you ask me."
He scrunched up his nose.
"I didn't," he said before wincing at his own words. "I'm sorry, that was mean. I just-"
"I get it, Harry, don't worry," Daphne said, understanding in her tone. "So, what are you going to do about Christmas? Don't you normally spend it with his family?"
Harry shrugged as he folded the dough.
"Dunno. I guess I'll just stick around. I know Millicent and Hanna are going home for the holiday, so I'll probably just take whatever extra shifts I can get." He looked up to see Daphne giving him a flat look. "What?"
She rolled her eyes.
"Why don't you spend time with that bombshell that comes in here and stares at you all the time?" she suggested teasingly. "The one who orders the same thing every time, under a different name, I still don't know what kinda weird game that is for you two, and then sits at the same table to watch you."
Harry looked around the station, moving ingredients and shuffling utensils as the door chime rang. Daphne looked up and smiled.
"The one who just walked in."
"Hey, where's the cream cheese?" Harry called, having not heard her.
"You used the last of it in your second burnt batch. There's more in the back," she said, causing him to huff and march off towards the walk-in. Again. Daphne turned back around and a smile spread across her face as Fleur approached the counter.
"I'll have-"
"A cappuccino with two shots of sugar free vanilla," finished Daphne. Fleur nodded and blushed slightly.
"And what name will you be using this time?" she asked with a smile.
"Sarah Walker," Fleur said quietly, handing her card to Daphne, clearly still embarrassed.
"You're Fleur, right?" asked Daphne, handing the card back. Fleur nodded and Daphne threw a glance behind her, confirming Harry was still in the back.
"Look, it's none of my business, but you might wanna talk to Harry."
Fleur raised an eyebrow.
"If you start a sentence with "it's none of my business" then it likely isn't. Regardless, what about?"
"I'm going to assume you know about the fight he and Ron got into?" Daphne saw anger flash briefly through Fleur's eyes before the taller blonde nodded. "Well did he tell you he was planning on spending Christmas alone?"
"No, he didn't," Fleur said, a bite entering her voice that hadn't been there before, causing Daphne to grimace. Hopefully she wasn't getting Harry into too much trouble.
"Yeah, he normally spends the holidays with the Weasleys, but that's not happening this year and…"
"And?"
"And he looks miserable every time he talks about it," Daphne said, a tentative look in her eyes. "Look, Harry's been a good friend, he's let me slip out when I need to take care of my sister, so I just want to return the favor."
Fleur smiled and nodded. "I'll talk to him. Thanks for letting me know."
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Harry dropped the pastry onto the table next to her, a simple beignet, before sliding into the seat across from her, a smile on his face. She sipped the last of her coffee, dropping the cup into the bin behind her before turning back towards him, eyebrow raised. He frowned.
"What?"
"What are your plans for Christmas?" Her question hung in the air, though he got the sense that she was asking a rhetorical question and just wanted to see his reaction. He rubbed the back of his neck, choosing the only smart course of action he could see by remaining silent.
"Because I've been told," she continued, "that you intend to spend it alone."
Harry looked over at Daphne, shooting daggers at his coworker. She at least, for her part, had the decency to send him an apologetic look before turning away.
"Well it's not exactly like I can spend it with the Weasley's like I normally do," he explained, looking down at his hands.
He shouldn't be surprised she was asking him, or that she'd find out, not really. Fleur wasn't one to let things remain once she found something she felt should be changed. Hell, he'd probably still be moody if she hadn't found him a few days after his fight with Ron. She listened, never interrupting, never questioning, never offering advice on what he should do. She just listened, and when he was done, she'd hugged him.
It had been a fantastic hug.
"You will be joining my family for our Christmas meal," Fleur said firmly as she leveled a cool look his way, one eyebrow barely raised as if daring him to disagree.
"That's not-," he started, but she continued to stare.
He swallowed, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up.
"Fleur, you don-," he started again, but her stare remained.
His mind blanked, her blue eyes burrowing into him like they could see his soul. Her look brokered no question, no argument, no wiggle room. He would be joining the Delacour family for their Christmas meal. She was telling him, not requesting. He should be offended, insulted even, that she was bossing him around.
So why did he think she was even more beautiful when she looked at him that way?
Finally, he nodded, breaking eye contact, looking back down at his hands.
"Fine. Thank you for inviting me," he said and she smiled.
"Good, I'm glad you could see it my way," she said and he rolled his eyes.
She made it sound so natural, as if he'd had any choice in the matter.
"Now, we need to go get your Christmas gift. You need new jeans."
He sighed, and for the first time since they met, he didn't protest. He liked Fleur, really liked her, and they'd gotten incredibly close. Whatever they were calling their current relationship, he didn't know, but she was right. His jeans wouldn't do for meeting her family. He had a nice school polo he could wear, but his jeans were old.
He got the sense this wouldn't be the last time he didn't protest something she said.
"Alright, let's get it over with then," he said, standing up before she raised her hand, causing him to sit back down.
"Or…not?"
"I haven't finished my beignet," she said with a smirk, grabbing the pastry and taking a bite, savoring its sweetness, a small dusting of powdered sugar settling on her nose. He laughed, causing her to look at him with a questioning glance.
"You've just got some…" he started, taking his thumb and rubbing the sugar off her nose, causing her cheeks to flush the smallest bit of crimson. "There, all better."
She smiled as she finished the treat with one final bite, dabbing her mouth with the napkin.
"Good?"
"You are an acceptable baker, I suppose."
He shrugged. "Eh, I'll take it. Lead the way Madam, you're driving this boat to new jeans."
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Harry fidgeted nervously in his room, rubbing his hands on his new jeans for the hundredth time, playing with the collar of his shirt in an attempt to do something, anything, with his hands. Fleur had told him a car would be picking him up soon, and that had started his nerves going and his mind racing at nearly the speed of light. He took several deep breaths, counted to ten, and played Hermione's words over in his head once more.
Just be yourself and they'll love you. You're charming, despite what you my think
A knock at the door broke his concentration and he opened it, revealing a taller man in a tailored gray suit and sunglasses, a wide smile on his face.
"Mr. Potter?" he asked, and Harry nodded.
"Yeah, but just call me Harry, please."
The man nodded and stepped back down the stairs, letting Harry out of the door to lock it and follow towards the street. When they rounded the building he stopped when he saw the black, and if he guessed, brand new, Mercedes parked alongside the road. The driver opened the back door, motioning for Harry to climb in, shaking him from his stupor as he seated himself. He looked around. The inside was just as luxurious as the outside made it seem.
A small pit of uncertainty built in Harry's stomach.
They drove in silence for a while, making their way out of the city. Harry idly wondered where they were going. He knew there were some nice, ultra rich locations nearby, so he assumed they would be headed to one of them, causing his nerves to return in full force.
"So, you are Ms. Fleur's friend, yeah?" the driver said, looking back at Harry from the rearview mirror. Harry nodded.
"Yeah," he said quietly, still unsure of the entire experience. He'd never even used a rideshare service, let alone a private car. Was it normal to talk to the driver?
"She can be quite the handful, can't she?"
Despite himself, Harry smiled and nodded, a low chuckle accompanying.
"Yeah, that's certainly true," he said as they made a turn towards the west side of town.
Definitely headed to an ultra rich location.
Harry looked back into the rearview mirror, the driver's concentration on the road instead of his passenger. He looked young, couldn't be much older than Fleur, yet Harry felt a warmth from him, as if being in the car was calming his nerves.
"If you don't mind me asking," Harry started, "do you have any advice for…" he trailed off.
"Dealing with the Delacours?" the driver said with a smile as Harry nodded.
"They're an intense bunch, I'll be honest. Gabby and Apolline will be cordial, though watch out for Gabby. She might take a liking to you because Fleur hasn't brought anyone around the family in quite some time."
They passed a train station and, after a few blocks, entered a long drive split by a large iron gate. Harry marveled at the houses, intricate sculptures and marble stone columns were in nearly every property. The pit of uncertainty built further in Harry's stomach as each house reminded him of the wealth on display.
There was a small guard house near the gate, staffed by a uniformed security guard, but the driver stayed to the right, opening the bars with the push of a button and a wave to the guard.
"It's Jacques-, sorry, Mr. Delacour, that you'll need to be wary of," the driver continued, "he's protective of his daughters, and questions anyone who associates with them."
"Any advice?"
"Just do your best. Fleur wouldn't have invited you if she didn't like you or thought you were ill equipped to handle her family."
Harry could see the man look at him from the mirror for a long moment as if determining something.
"You like Fleur, don't you?"
Harry remained silent, looking back out the window as they pulled up to a large property, stopping on the side of the road.
"I do, yes," he said.
The driver smiled.
"I've been around this family for years, first when my father was their head of security and now as a driver. In all the time I've been around her, Fleur's been pretty reserved, kept to herself. Except this year. She smiles more, spends more time with her sister, hell, her and her dad haven't been fighting as much. I think that might be your doing."
The driver got out of the car and opened Harry's door, allowing him to slip out and onto the sidewalk. Glancing up, Harry gave him an unsure look.
"Any advice on that?"
The driver shrugged. "Just do what comes naturally. My dad used to say that people gravitate towards each other naturally. That those that fit together will eventually find each other, they just have to let the tide take them to the shore. No idea if that's horseshit or not, but it sounds thoughtful."
Harry held out his hand and the driver shook it.
"Thank you, Mr…?"
"Luc Bennet, at your service."
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Harry rang the doorbell and the uncertainty grew in his stomach.
He looked around the yard, a semi circle driveway with a marble stone fountain in the middle. Large columns framed the home, screaming money in a way that Harry hadn't found himself among much in his life. The door opened and a short blonde girl, younger than he, stood in front of him. She looked remarkably similar to Fleur, long blonde hair that fell to her waist and deep blue eyes that looked up at him with a questioning gaze.
"You must be Fleur's latest victim," the young girl said with a smile, causing Harry to pause, his thoughts briefly leaving him as he struggled with the greeting. That wasn't what he had been expecting.
The girl laughed and waved him in.
"I'm only joking," she said, still giggling as he stepped inside, "oh boy the look on your face was worth it. Like a deer in headlights."
He smiled weakly. "Thanks, I think?"
She nodded, a large smile still on her face.
"I'm Gabby, Fleur's sister. The better daughter," she said, never losing her smile. "You must be Harry. Fleur talks a lot about you."
Harry's eyes opened wide.
"She…does?"
"Yep," said Gabby, popping the p at the end. "She said you're friends with Ron Weasley."
He kept himself from scowling at the mention of Ron, hiding his displeasure with his friend from the girl. It wouldn't do for him to make a bad first impression.
He nodded. "I am, yeah. We've been friends since we were kids."
The girl's eyes got wide.
"Really? Could you introduce me? I'm a huuuuuge sportsball fan and he's just the absolute best. I can't wait until he's playing professionally."
"I'm sure I could introduce you, yeah," he said, "Ron's not shy about meeting people, especially fans."
Gabby squealed and pumped her fist twice before her posture and manner changed in an instant, as if a lightswitch had been flipped.
"What are your intentions with my sister?" she asked seriously.
"That's enough, Gabby," Fleur's voice called from above.
Harry turned, looked up the staircase and froze. The Fleur Delacour that he knew always dressed in the most stylish clothes, tailored perfectly to match her lithe frame. Her face powdered and painted with the perfect amount of makeup. A touch more and it would seem heavy handed. Her hair, immaculate; a waltz of silver blonde dancing to their own tune, and yet, exactly the way she intended.
At the top of the stairs, she wore a faded pair of skinny jeans, an oversized pale green sweater, and her hair had been done up in a bun, held in place by a hair stick, strands jutting out at random angles to escape the confines. As she descended the steps, he noticed she didn't have a drop of makeup on, her natural skin on display, even a never-before-seen light scar on her left cheek. As she reached the bottom she smiled at him.
She didn't look like Fleur Delacour, Heiress to the Delacour Enterprises dynasty, future World's Greatest Designer.
She just looked like regular Fleur.
He didn't have a lot of life experience, he knew that, but at that moment, Fleur Delacour was the most beautiful person he'd ever seen.
The pit of uncertainty grew in his stomach, just as his heart raced and jumped.
She hugged him, a waft of cinnamon hitting his nose and she smiled again as she pulled away.
"Wow."
She looked him up and down before nodding approvingly and he briefly sent a silent thank you that she chose to ignore his comment.
"You cleanup alright, I guess," she said, and just like that, the tension in his chest broke, like a balloon had popped. He laughed before rolling his eyes.
"Fleur, you picked this out," he reminded her, but she simply shrugged.
"Yeah, so I knew it would go well together, naturally, I'm just saying that you wear it well."
"An eye for fashion and humble, what will the world do when Fleur Delacour is unleashed upon it?" he teased. She swatted his arm in response.
"Get out of my way, hopefully," she said, before turning towards the interior and motioning for them to follow. "Come, it's time to eat. We're eating on the patio, they got the big heaters out so it'll be warm."
As they walked towards the patio, Fleur leading, Gabby looked up at him with a wide smile once again on her face.
"I like you, Harry," she whispered, just loud enough for him to hear. "You drool over my sister. None of the others drooled."
Harry rolled his eyes.
"I don't believe that," he whispered back, but Gabby shook her head.
"It's true. If the others drooled, they drooled so they could meet our father. You drool because you think my sister is a smokeshow," she said with a small giggle. Harry cocked an eyebrow.
"And how do you know I'm not here to meet your father?" he asked.
"Because your shoes are at least four years old and you missed the second button on your polo."
He looked down and, sure enough, he had missed the second button on his shirt. He reached up to button it, a flush of embarrassment washing over his cheeks as he heard a snicker beside him.
He looked back down at Gabby. "You're far too clever for someone younger than me."
"Yeah, well, one of us had to get the cleverness, and my sister took all the smarts and excessive beauty."
Fleur led them through the large, luxurious house, Harry wasn't sure he'd ever been in a place so rich, before they finally arrived on the patio and his jaw nearly dropped at the spectacle. The view was captivating, to say the least.
A wide lawn, with perfectly manicured grass and hedges spread out across the yard. There was a large swimming pool in the middle that ended in an in-ground jacuzzi. Her parents had been seated before they arrived, and he had done his best to present himself.
The pit of uncertainty grew exponentially upon meeting Fleur's parents.
As Luc told him, Apolline had been cordial, greeting him with kind words and a gentle smile, her elegant features making him blush when she winked at him teasingly. She reminded him a lot of Mrs. Weasley, bursting with motherly warmth that radiated from her and touched everything around.
Jacques Delacour was another story, and the current source of Harry's uncertainty.
A tall man with graying black hair and sharp features, he gave Harry a stiff greeting and a firm handshake, but it was his eyes that Harry noticed most. They were piercing and calculating, as if he was looking through Harry and weighing his worth at the same time, and it made him feel substantially smaller. Upon meeting him, Harry instantly knew how Jacques Delacour became the man of importance he was, and it unnerved him.
As the wait staff served their meal, a fact that wasn't lost on Harry, Jacques looked between Harry and Fleur.
"Tell me, Harry," the older man said, "how did you come to be acquainted with Fleur? I'm afraid she's been rather light on details."
Harry swallowed but nodded, attempting to force a small smile on his face.
"We met in the computer center, sir," Harry said, casting the briefest of glances at Fleur. For her part, she seemed unconcerned with the question, so he pressed on. "I had, er, checked out a book she was looking for and she happened to find me reading it."
As they began to dig into their meal, expensive silverware being served on expensive plates alongside expensive wine, the pit in his stomach grew, dampening his appetite.
"So, what is it your parents do for a living, Harry?" Jacques asked, and Harry shook his head.
"My parents died when I was young, sir."
Jacques nodded, a solemn look on his face.
"My apologies, I didn't mean to offend."
Harry waved a hand dismissively. "It was a long time ago."
"How's Angelina?" Apolline asked Fleur.
"She's good. Her family went to the mountains for the holidays. They wanted to go skiing as a family one last time before she graduates," Fleur said. Jacques nodded.
"Ah, has she given any more thought to my offer? I spoke with her mother a couple months ago about the potential opportunity," Fleur shook her head, yet Harry could see the tension in her face building.
"No, she hasn't."
"Well, the offer remains open," he commented before looking back at Harry. "And you, Harry? What is your major?"
"Economics, sir."
"Ah, economics, a very fascinating field, no doubt," he said, sipping his wine. "Do you have any ideas as to what you want to do once you graduate?"
Harry shook his head. "Not yet, but I'm looking to see what really grabs my attention. I'm hoping to get an internship in the summer."
Jacques nodded again.
"Ah, so you're like Fleur, still trying to find your true major?"
Fleur dropped her fork.
"Can we not, please?" she asked, glaring at him. Jacques simply shrugged.
"What? I'm simply talking to the man about his future. It's important to know what truly matters and not waste time on fruitless endeavors, that's all."
Fleur looked ready to kill, and Harry wished he could have caught her eye, given her some unspoken look to help her calm down, anything to stop what was looking like a fight in the making.
The pit of uncertainty boiled in his stomach again.
"You still think I'm going to change my mind? I'm graduating this year, father, I'm not a freshman looking to find my way."
Jacques gave a short laugh.
"Design is not a real major, my little flower. Continuing to delude yourself into thinking so will only delay your place in the family business," he said casually, as if talking about the weather. "Taking in strays will not change who you are, my dear, or that you belong at Delacour Enterprises."
Harry briefly wondered if Jacques was always this much of a prick or if his presence was bringing it out.
Fleur pounded her fist on the table, nearly knocking over her wine glass, and shot up out of her chair, fury burning in her eyes.
The pit of uncertainty boiled over in Harry's stomach, overflowing with a new sense of urgency.
Fight or flight? Fight or flight?
He looked around, the decadence, the fancy silverware, the high-class meat, Jacques' extremely expensive suit, it caught Harry as wrong. He was in the wrong place.
"Apologize, now," Fleur hissed, eyes never leaving her father. Jacques took another sip of wine and smiled, wholly unconcerned with Fleur's behavior.
"What is there to apologize for, hmm? The man is a stray you have brought in from the street, for what purpose, I do not know. Fleur, I only want what's best for you, you and your sister, and wasting your time with this man will not help you achieve your potential."
Harry stood quickly, giving a brief nod to the family.
"This was a mistake, I should go," he said, and without another word he was off, walking quickly through the side gate and across the front of the property.
"Jacques," Apolline admonished, "Did you have to say that?"
"I only-," he started.
"Why? Why would you do that to him?" Fleur asked, the previous fury replaced with sadness and confusion. "Why would you drive him away?"
"What is it you want from him, hmm?" Jacques asked. "What is it that you see in him? All I see is a man not worthy of my daughter's time."
Fleur's head dropped and she simply stood there, hands on the table, shaking softly. She mumbled without looking up.
"Speak up, Fleur," Jacques commanded.
When she looked back up there were tears on her cheeks, thin lines of hurt running down her face, eyes filled with pain.
"When I'm around him I feel like myself," she said, her voice low. "I don't have to pretend when I'm around him, I don't have to put on a show or be who everyone expects me to be. I feel real."
She wiped her face with her napkin before standing up to her full height, sending an apologetic look back to Gabby and Apolline before turning towards her father.
"I hate you."
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Harry sat on his loveseat, empty salad bowl on the ground, scrolling through his phone. He'd made it back to his apartment in record time, wanting to be anywhere but the suffocating glamor of Fleur's neighborhood. Luckily, the convenience store around the corner from his place was open every day, without fail. The eldery couple who owned the place even wished him a Merry Christmas when he'd bought his salad.
As he'd made it back to the confines of his small room, the tension in his body had finally dissipated, finally released, and exhaustion had set in.
He would have to apologize to Fleur for his behavior, for running away, but not today. He briefly contemplated calling Hermione, but decided against it, not wishing to burden her on Christmas with his childish problems. He would wallow in his self-pity today before making things right with Fleur tomorrow.
A knock at the door interrupted his pity party.
Trudging over, he opened it and his eyes widened as he saw Fleur standing here, eyes red, an unsure small smile on her face and a laptop bag slung over her shoulder. She held up a bag of Chinese food and a bottle of wine.
"Can I come in? I brought peace offerings."
He nodded and stepped aside, letting her in and closing the door behind her. As he turned around, she wrapped her arms around him as tightly as she could with her hands full. He returned the hug equally.
"I'm sorry," they both said at the same time as they separated.
Harry sighed, taking the bag from her and setting it next to the sink. He removed the four takeout containers and grabbed two forks. He was too tired for chopsticks. As he opened the containers he heard the wine open and instinctively reached for two cups, handing them to Fleur. They worked in silence before heading to the loveseat.
Harry dug into the food, surprised at how good it tasted. Perhaps it was the fact that he hadn't eaten much, or perhaps it was the company, he didn't really know. Fleur held up the empty salad container.
"Did you eat a convenience store salad when you got back?"
He nodded, grabbing more of the noodles onto his fork and stuffing it into his mouth. He took a moment to savor it before swallowing.
"It was the only thing open and they didn't have pizza," he said, causing Fleur to scrunch her nose up.
"Convenience store pizza? Really?"
He nodded. "Don't knock it till you try it."
The two ate in silence until both hit the bottom of their containers and sat back, stuffed. He eyed the two remaining containers near the sink and contemplated grabbing them but decided that would require too much effort.
"I'm sorry," Fleur finally said, "about what my father said. He was out of line."
Harry waved her off.
"Nah, it's fine," he said, "though I'm sorry about storming out."
"No, it's not alright, Harry. He-,"
"I didn't leave because of what he was saying, Fleur," Harry insisted, finally looking back up at her.
He took a drink of the wine and smiled. She had bought cheap wine, the same stuff that Hermione would bring over. Somehow, that made him feel so much better, knowing that she hadn't pilfered her family's expensive collection. He sat up straight, pawing at the lip of his glass as he tried to get the right words.
"I was-, I was uncomfortable before I got there. Luc, your driver, he made me feel better, but it all started getting to me when you started arguing with your dad."
Fleur looked concerned. "What started getting to you?"
"I guess the luxury of everything? I've never been anywhere near that much expensive stuff in my life outside of museum trips at school. The massive houses, the wait staff, the expensive glasses with expensive silverware. Hell, your dad's suit and watch probably cost more than I've ever seen in my life."
Fleur opened her mouth but he held up a hand.
"It's not your fault."
He drank the rest of his glass, before continuing.
"I grew up poor. My Aunt Petunia couldn't work because of a disability and my uncle Vernon had a dead end job at a drill company that he could never move up in because he was, and still is, such an asshole. They already had a kid of their own and then I got dropped in their laps. They took me in because Petunia promised my grandmother she would if anything ever happened to my mom."
Harry ran a hand through his hair as an attempt to calm his nerves.
"Vernon made enough to get by, and any extra money they had was spent on Dudley, my cousin. I got a job when I was 11 cutting neighbors yards just so I could have money for fun. That's when I discovered comics. Cheap, but endlessly enjoyable."
Harry laughed at the memory, sitting out on the bench at the park, reading the same X-Men comic for the 80th time, trying to memorize every detail of every panel.
"So tonight just reminded me of how small I am, I think," Harry said, looking back at Fleur. "It's not your fault, I promise. It's just how I grew up, I guess. I haven't even been on my own for a year, so it was a shock to the system, I think."
"I don't want you to be uncomfortable around me, Harry," she said softly.
"Never," he said, "let's just forget today and move on, yeah?" He cocked an eyebrow at her and she nodded. Reaching into her bag, Fleur pulled out her laptop.
"Bruce Timm marathon?"
"That depends on where we start," he replied seriously. Fleur rolled her eyes.
"With Batman, duh."
He scratched his chin. "I dunno, there is some merit to skipping Batman and heading straight for Justice League."
She narrowed her eyes.
"You are not seriously suggesting to skip Batman and Batman Beyond to go straight to Justice League. I could maybe understand skipping Superman, but not the Bats. Harry, I do believe that's damn close to heresy."
He laughed, the rest of the day's tension seeping out of him as their usual banter returned. He smirked at her.
"All I'm saying is that Justice League has some of the best episodes. It's a viable strategy, unless it offends your nerdy senseabilities?"
All he received was a flat look.
"It's Batman or nothing, Mister. You in, or not?"
Harry nodded with a smile, grabbing the small end table Hermione had bought him and setting it in front of them. Fleur queued up the first episode and sat back, feet curled beneath her.
The two enjoyed themselves in their own nerdy way, watching an old cartoon on a too-small screen, in a too-small apartment, on a too-small couch. After the fourth episode started, both of their eyes began to droop, the emotional exhaustion of the day's events finally getting to them as they fell asleep, heads pressed together, both content with where they were.