The whistle blew and the crowd was silent for a long, drawn out moment before erupting into pure joy, screams of elation filling the stands. They had done it. Sportsball champions. Fireworks went off and the crowd began a rousing chant of "Weasley is our King" as had become so common since they made it into the playoffs. Harry jumped up and down with them, the excitement in the stands infectious as he watched Ron celebrate.
Ron had demanded that Harry be allowed among the rest of the team, and the coaching staff had caved immediately, dubbing Harry the "good luck charm." In a weird, stupid sportsball superstition way it made sense. The team had won all but once when he was there. He could have done without everyone giving him a high five every time they passed, however. His hand was sore.
Harry laughed as Ron put him in a headlock, his childlike exuberance on full display, the fire for sportsball fully shining in the redhead's eyes.
"Good job, Ron!" Harry yelled over the screaming and celebration. Ron let him go and draped an arm over Harry's shoulder, just like he'd done for years.
"It's all thanks to you, Harry!"
He could see the joy in Ron's face and in that moment he thought that perhaps his friend's uncertainty was misplaced. Some sort of high-stakes jitters that he needed to work through mentally before he could completely dominate all other teams on the road to victory. Ron stood up straight and raised his arms high and wide.
"Party at Griffon House!" he yelled and the entire team erupted in cheers as they began moving, the chant still not ceasing or lowering in volume, much to Ron's delight. Looking back, Ron jerked his head towards the rest of the team.
"You coming, little bro?"
Normally, Harry would tell him no, he'll sit this one out. He'd tell Ron to go on ahead and maybe he'll show up a bit later. He never did, but at that moment, Harry couldn't bring himself to spoil the mood. Their school had just won the championship, they were on top of the world. Who was he to deny the star his fun?
Harry nodded.
"Wouldn't miss it for the world buddy," he said, causing Ron to give an even louder cheer.
.
.
"How are you so good at this game?" Seamus whined in frustration as he retrieved the ball from the cup and downed the contents, his eyes sending Harry a pleading look.
"Please, Professor Potter, I'll do anything, anything, if you just stop being so. Damn. Good."
Harry raised an eyebrow and looked at Seamus with a contemplating stare, cocking his head to the side, then turned back to the last cup and tossed the ball. It sailed through the air briefly before landing directly into the red cup.
"Nooooooooo!" Seamus cried, falling to his knees dramatically and throwing his head back as everyone laughed. He retrieved the ball from the cup and drank the contents, sending a mock scowl in Harry's direction.
Harry took a sip of his drink, some unknown mixture that Ron had handed him some time ago, and smiled. He was loath to admit it but he was having fun with the team, real fun, as they celebrated their hard earned victory. He could tell Ron was at the top of the world, and it was impossible not to pick up some of that energy from his best friend.
What shocked Harry most was just how down to earth the team was while also being completely and utterly ridiculous. Seamus was the storyteller, having regaled the entire house with a dramatic retelling of the day's events. Dean was the joker, always quick with a comeback or jab, though he had remarkably little to say when Ron brought up Fleur, much to Ron's amusement. Even Neville, the shy and unobtrusive one, was a blast. His interest in non-sportsball topics was fascinating and maddening. The man knew gardening better than professional landscapers.
It all felt normal, and that was what surprised Harry the most. Take away the uniforms and the glow of the crowd, strip away the pressure of championships, and what you're left with were a bunch of guys with a shared passion that had brought them together.
Kind of like him and Fleur.
"What you failed to realize Seamus, my good man," said Ron, draping his arm around Harry for what must have been the hundredth time that night, "is that my little bro here is an expert marksman."
Seamus looked unamused and clearly unconvinced.
"It's true. My man here is a beer pong expert. Who here wants to challenge him, hmmm? Dean? Neville?"
"We'll take you on, Red," an amused voice called from behind them and Harry rolled his eyes. Turning around he saw a smirking Angelina with Fleur standing beside her. Ron closed the distance and enveloped them both in a crushing hug.
"My two favorite seniors!" he said as he released them. His eyes darkened as he stepped back. "You issued a challenge?"
Angelina nodded.
"Yep. You and Green Eyes versus me and Blondie," she said and Fleur nodded, her smile changing to a smirk. Harry looked up at Ron, unsure.
"I don't know about this Ron…"
"Scared, Mr. Potter?" teased Fleur as she walked by him, giving his hand a squeeze as she passed, a wink sent behind her as she reached the other end of the table was all the goading he needed.
"Nope, cautious. It does one good to be careful when their opponents have already lost but don't know it yet."
Ron nodded and pointed at him.
"Exactly."
Ron looked back at Angelina. "Your poison, Ms. Johnson?"
"Vodka."
Ron leaned down and grabbed the bottle of vodka, pouring a bit into each cup before handing it to Fleur. With the board set, Ron nodded.
"We'll let you go first," he said, indicating for Angelina to begin. She cocked an eyebrow.
"You don't want to do that."
"Oh? Why's that?"
Harry tilted his head slightly to the side and he saw something pass across her face, as if she had some secret that they didn't. When she caught his eye, she winked, and he instantly knew.
This was a bad idea.
He looked at the bottle, remembered it was vodka, and his eyes opened wide as he heard Angelina laugh.
"Well Red, at least one of you figured it out. Let the games begin, yeah?"
Harry looked at Fleur and his stomach did a flip. Even in the crappy lighting of the party, he could still tell she looked amazing. Their eyes met and he saw devilish amusement looking back at him.
This would not end well.
.
.
Harry stepped out into the cold night air, the breeze hitting his face like a rush of cold water. He shivered before he finished putting his coat on and leaned against the column of the porch. All down the street he could hear the music and laughter emanating from Raven, Badger, and Serpent Houses, their own celebrations taking place in full force. He sucked in a breath, letting the cold air fill his lungs and clear his head a bit, before slowly exhaling.
As he had predicted, they'd been thoroughly humiliated by Fleur and Angelina, the two making a beer pong team the likes of which Ron had never seen. Their aim was outstanding, even as Harry did his best to even things up. Ron had tried his best at distraction, wild hand gestures and corny jokes, but nothing had broken their concentration. They'd beaten them with ease. Twice. By the end of the second game Harry could feel the vodka swimming in his head, muting the world somewhat.
He would have said it was all in good fun, but Angelina had kept giving him looks throughout the night, ones he couldn't quite decipher. It was as if she were waiting for him to do something. What, he couldn't quite place though, so he chalked it up to having drank more than his standard amount, which was to say more than "hardly any."
As they'd conceded defeat and Angelina loudly called "Let's dance!" she'd sent him one last look.
Fleur had grabbed his hand just as the music swelled and the entire house seemed to move with the rhythmic beat of the song. He didn't know why, maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the atmosphere, but he'd moved along with her, losing himself in the noise. As she had pressed herself against him, that sweet whiff of cinnamon hitting his nose, everything else dropped out. The music, the background noise, the people. They moved, his hands on her hips, her head leaned against him, arms locked around his neck.
They shared the embrace, and all he saw was her.
He didn't know how long they danced, but they were interrupted by his alarm telling him to leave. He had work in the morning. He didn't see the look of disappointment in her eyes, or hear the frustrated groan that Angelina let out as he bid them goodnight before making his way outside.
He took another deep breath and let it out in a huff, his head clearing again as he pushed himself off the column and started down the short porch steps.
"Hey," he heard from behind.
Turning around, he saw Fleur emerge from the house and he smiled.
"Hey yourself. Sorry I gotta run. I signed up for an extra shift last week and if I leave any later then I'll be a zombie tomorrow."
She shook her head as she stopped above him on the porch.
"No, you're good. Don't want you to be late for work or anything."
She bit her lip and he could tell that she had something she wanted to say, her nervous habit having long since been etched into his consciousness.
"I had fun tonight."
"Me too," he agreed. "I don't think I've ever had fun at any party Ron's dragged me to."
He looked up at her. "I'm glad you guys showed up. Even if we did get our asses handed to us."
"Well, Ron should have known better than to accept a challenge from the Beer Pong Queen," she replied with a haughty, playful tone. "He's never going to live it down."
"Not as long as I'm around," Harry said, causing Fleur to break out into a fit of giggles. "But seriously, I don't think tonight would have been the same without you."
Just as he was about to turn around she stepped down and hugged him, warmth spreading through him as he breathed her in.
Breaking apart, she stopped, inches from his face. His heart rate spiked, the closeness sending shivers down his spine as he could feel her breath on him. She looked at him, an almost expecting look, and he made to lean forward…but stopped and pulled away.
No, not tonight, he thought. Not when they'd both been drinking. Not on the chance that it would be something she regretted.
A loud noise from across the street caused him to turn around, missing the hurt that crossed her face, the pain she briefly showed. As the Raven House fireworks went off, he stepped away, looked back at her, and frowned. Her demeanor had changed to a much more formal one than before.
She gave him a small, tight smile.
"Goodnight, Harry."
"Goodnight, Fleur," he said with a smile as he turned and walked away.
.
.
The rise and fall of the ringing emanated from his phone as he stared at the display, willing her to answer, rewarded for his efforts with Hermione's smiling face.
"Hey Harry, I was just about to call-"
"Why didn't you tell me The Veela and the Vampire got picked up for a TV series?" he interrupted.
She rolled her eyes and huffed.
"That's why you called me? Seriously? I'm almost insulted," she said in mock hurt.
"Yeah, that's why I called. I just found out. Why didn't you tell me? I need details!" he said excitedly and she laughed.
"Easy there tiger, it's just a greenlight. Not even a single word has been written, so it's still going to be a few years."
"So you're gonna be involved then, yeah?" he asked.
"Of course I am," she said, turning her nose up. "Not being involved would be like leaving the hospital, giving your baby to the first homeless person you find, and saying "here, you deal with this for a while." I'm not going to let them muddy the story."
He laughed and nodded in agreement. He'd seen the news come across his phone while on the train back to his place, shocked that Hermione hadn't told him before, but ultimately, he just wanted to give her a hard time.
"Ohhh, have you thought about who you want to play the hot blonde Veela yet? I could think of a few good suggestions." Before he could continue she held up a hand.
"No fan casting, please," she commanded before lowering her hand. "Besides, that's what we use the production company for. They know more about that than I do. I'm just here to make sure the story gets told how I want it."
She moved something off camera before looking back at him.
"How are you and Fleur?"
"We're good," he said and she raised an eyebrow.
"That's not evasive at all."
Harry sighed. He should have known she would ask, but he hated talking about himself. Especially when there were more important things. Like who should play the supernaturally attractive French bird woman.
"We're good, I promise."
"So, you two still aren't admitting you're dating?" she asked with concern. He shook his head.
"We're not," he said firmly. Ron and Hermione had relentlessly hounded him about his relationship with Fleur ever since he'd told the two what happened at the wedding. He had said multiple times, quite firmly, that they weren't dating.
"Uh huh, I too dance with my friends the way Ron described you two dancing, but don't think I'm dating them either," Hermione said sarcastically. "How'd she respond when you told her you love her?"
He mumbled something towards the phone.
"Speak up Harry, it's rude to mumble."
"I said I haven't told her."
Silence.
"What?!" she finally screamed, panic mixed with shock registering on her face. "Harry, it's been over a month since you told me you thought you were in love with her. Excuse my language, but what the bloody hell is wrong with you?"
"What do you want me to say Hermione? I don't know if she feels the same way, so why risk it?"
"Don't give me that shit, Harry," she said, causing Harry to sit up straighter. Hermione never used foul language, it just wasn't her. She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, squeezing it for several seconds before releasing and looking back up at him.
"Harry, that woman is crazy about you, and I think the logical part of you knows that." He started to interrupt but she held up a hand. "I think you're worried about what comes next if she says she loves you back. You don't know what happens after that and you're scared."
He looked down, unable to meet her gaze, because he knew she was right. He was scared. Scared of rejection. Scared of acceptance. Scared of, well, everything that had to do with relationships.
He nodded.
"Harry, does Fleur make you happy?"
He nodded again.
"Then you owe it to her to tell her how you feel. I'm not saying you need to go out and profess your undying love for her right this second," she said, "but tell her soon."
"I haven't exactly had an opening, she's been kinda busy, something about her capstone. It's been really stressing her out," he argued, a final attempt to find any sort of logical reason why Hermione wasn't absolutely right and he wasn't an absolute moron.
"So, I don't know, buy her a new comic, take her mind off of it, and tell her. Knowing would probably ease her stress."
Harry sighed and nodded, not bothering to try and come up with more excuses. The new issue of Batgirl came out tomorrow. He could pick it up at lunch and stop by the computer center tomorrow evening. She'd be there for a while, as always.
He looked up at Hermione and smiled. "You're wise beyond your years, you know that, don't you?"
Hermione sighed dramatically. "Heavy is the crown."
"Thanks Hermione. You're the best."
.
.
Harry walked up the stairs leading into the computer center, the latest issue of Batgirl secure in his bag, and a bit of a pep in his step. He had taken Hermione's words to heart and stopped by the comic shop, Lee giving him the "crispest" copy of the issue he had. As he trudged up the stairs he hoped that Fleur's capstone wasn't giving her quite so many problems. She'd been a mess of nerves lately, but he hoped a small distraction would help.
He saw her on her couch, a smile playing across his face at the thought of their first meeting in this exact spot. A young, wide eyed Harry Potter not yet understanding Fleur Delacour's claim to furniture. It'd been an intense meeting, but one he was truly thankful to have experienced. He'd have never met her otherwise.
She was typing furiously on her laptop, her brow furrowed as her hands moved across the keyboard rapidly. He approached cautiously and sat down gently, careful not to move her laptop too much.
"Hey," he said as he looked over at her.
She didn't respond and continued to type. Her mouth was moving and he realized that she was reading what she was typing as she was typing it. Something felt off about her, in a way that he hadn't felt before. Like there was something out of place. His concern grew.
"Is your capstone still giving you problems?"
"Yes," she said, not bothering to take her eyes off the screen.
"Anything I can do to help?"
She shook her head once, the barest of movements, so quick he almost didn't catch it.
"Not unless you can go back in time and stop my father from doing this."
He frowned.
"Your father? What's he got to do with this?"
She sighed in annoyance.
"They changed the parameters of my capstone mere months before the end of the year. Who else but my father could have convinced them to do such a thing? Just another way for him to show me he's still in control," she said, bitterness in her voice.
Harry scooted closer to her and peered at the screen, her old design shown side by side with the one she was now creating.
She sighed.
"I need to concentrate."
"C'mon, I bet you've been at this for hours. A small break won't hurt you. I've even brought entertainment."
She shook her head again.
"Harry, I have to redo six months of work in half that, I don't have time for games. Let me work."
He looked at her briefly and she looked like she hadn't slept in days. There were faint bags under her eyes, not enough for most people to notice, but he did. Her eyes were starting to get bloodshot, likely long nights of caffeine and energy drinks these last couple weeks taking their toll. Above all though, she looked as if she were ready to burst, like a balloon floating dangerously close to a needle and a breeze was threatening to push it closer.
She didn't look like someone who needed to work, she looked like someone who needed a break from it.
Harry reached into his bag and pulled out the comic, dropping it onto her hands as they moved across the keyboard. She stopped typing as she looked at him.
"Just picked it up today," he said, smiling. "Figured you'd want to read-"
She grabbed the comic roughly and threw it to the side, the corner impacting the ground as it tumbled away. Harry's eyes went wide as he stood up.
"What the hell Fleur?"
She looked up at him with a scathing glare.
"I said leave me alone, what part of that is unclear?"
He bent down and picked up the book before looking back at her.
"Fleur, you look like you're three seconds away from collapsing from exhaustion. You need a break," he said with concern.
"I need some damn peace and quiet. Are you incapable of providing that?"
Irritation welled up in his throat before he could stop himself.
"Have I done something wrong?"
She growled. "Yes, you won't leave me alone, Harry."
Irritation flashed in his throat again.
"Everyone's worried about you Fleur. Me, Angelina, and even Gabby."
It was true. He'd asked Angelina what was bothering Fleur, and she'd simply said Fleur was stressed, but her answer had been less than reassuring and it gave Harry pause. Likewise, when he introduced Gabby to Ron this week, the younger girl pulled him aside and told him he needed to find out what was wrong with her sister.
"I thought a comic would help you relax, maybe I was wrong."
She rolled her eyes.
"Oh, grow up Harry. Maybe that's the problem. Maybe it's time to stop with the comics like a little boy!" Fleur shouted.
Everything stopped.
Pain bloomed in his heart, like a bullet tearing through him, igniting his entire chest. The burn came hot and fast, rising all the way to his throat and pricking the corners of his eyes. He almost cried out at the sudden onslaught of emotion before, in an instant, it was gone.
In its place there was nothing.
"Yeah, maybe you're right," he said bitterly, "maybe it's time for both of us to grow up. Maybe it's time for you to stop pretending you're here for anything other than to piss off daddy, princess."
She opened her mouth to respond with a biting retort but before she could speak, he was gone.
He walked aimlessly, but with purpose, unsure of his direction but determined to put distance between himself and the disaster of a conversation that had just marred one of his favorite places on campus. His chest felt hollow, like a piece of him was gone, taken by the hurt of her words. He'd never felt anything like it, and in that moment, he thought he preferred the shameful hatred of his childhood over whatever this was.
At some point, his legs must have guided him to Ron's dorm, instinct to seek out a friendly face taking over. He knocked and the tall redhead's smiling face answered.
"Hey Harry, what's up?"
Harry looked up at him, doing his best to hide the hurt and sense of loss. The campus lights came on at that moment, indicating the sun had finally set on the day. Fitting, he thought, a dark night to match his mood.
"You wanna get a drink?"
.
.
Ron Weasley was worried.
He had gotten back from his daily workout, despite having won a championship he couldn't just stop his routine, and had been all set for a quiet night. He'd find something to watch and do one of his assignments or maybe clean up his room. He hadn't done that in a while and it was starting to smell a bit, even he could admit that.
Or maybe Dean and Seamus would come over and they'd play some poker.
On the list of things he thought he'd be doing tonight, "being invited out to drinks by Harry" was quite possibly the very last item, if it made the list at all.
He wouldn't say he hadn't been thrilled at the invite, of course not, Harry never wanted to go out for drinks, so this was new and exciting. They'd made their way swifty to the Leaky Cauldron, a local pub quite close to campus, one Ron and the rest of the team visited frequently. With a friendly greeting to Tom, the owner, they'd ordered their first drinks.
And then Harry had ordered another. And another. And another.
Ron Weasley was worried.
"Mate, you think you might wanna slow down there a bit?" he asked tentatively, placing a hand on Harry's shoulder.
His best friend looked rough, for lack of a better word. His shoulders were sagging, his face downcast, and his usual cheerful demeanor had been replaced by a somber pale imitation of the man usually sitting next to him. Above all though, it was Harry's eyes that had Ron the most worried. He'd always thought Harry had a fire in his eyes, crackling behind emerald orbs.
Tonight, that fire had been reduced to embers.
Ron didn't consider himself particularly bright, he had accepted that fact long ago, but he knew his best friend, and there was only one person who could affect him to such a degree.
"Did you and Fleur fight?"
A dull nod while finishing off a glass was his answer.
"What about?"
Harry indicated to Tom to bring him another before turning towards Ron, a forlorn look in his eyes.
"I messed it up Ron, it's all meshed up." Harry said, hiccupping, but somehow managed a winning smile and passably straight posture as the old barman Tom brought his next round.
"How's that?" Ron asked, sipping his own beer, grimacing as Harry slumped back over his new glass.
He'd watched Harry drink for so long that his own had gotten warm, so he swapped his half full mug for Harry's fresh one. Harry gave him a dirty look, squinting with one eye before he gave a half hearted shrug and took a long gulp from the glass.
"I'm good at screwing things up," whispered Harry as he stared into the foam atop his beer, "or maybe none of this was ever what it seemed. Dunno."
Ron sighed.
He'd never seen Harry this down and in the dumps. Harry was a rock, a constant in everyone's life, that one person you could look at and think, "That person has their shit together." Seeing him like this was unnerving. Ron needed help. He needed backup.
He slipped his phone out of his pocket and sent a message.
Hey, you know what's going on with Harry and Fleur?
The reply came almost instantly.
You'll need to be more specific, Red. She stormed in here earlier like a bat out of hell and shut herself in her room.
He tapped the screen and hit send.
Harry's drinking and it's bad.
Another reply.
What's bad mean?
He looked up at his friend as he finished the glass and frowned.
Like maybe half a beer away from singing 'Hotel California' bad.
He snapped a picture of Harry and sent it. The typing bubbles appeared immediately, stopping and starting, before the reply finally came.
Text me the name of the place and keep him there. Try to get him some water. I'm sending help.
Ron slipped his phone back into his pocket and looked up at Tom, catching the old bartender's eye.
"Water," he said, jerking his head towards Harry.
.
.
Fleur worked quickly, her hand fixing and adjusting the new design with exacting precision, exactly as they had requested. She was furious about the whole thing and she knew her father was to blame, there was no other explanation. This close to the end of term, to change the entire requirements? None but her father would be so cruel.
After her fight with Harry she'd retreated to her room. The anger on her face had likely scared those who had the misfortune to cross her path from the computer center to her room, but she was beyond caring at this point. The sanctuary of her room gave her the peace and quiet she needed to prove everyone wrong, to show them that it didn't matter if they changed things a thousand times, she would still deliver perfection. To show her father he didn't have control over her.
Her door opened swiftly and Angelina burst in, a wild look on her face as she looked down at Fleur.
"What did you do?" Angelina demanded.
Fleur ignored her, choosing to focus on the presentation in front of her. Today appeared to be the day for distractions, but she would have none.
"I don't have time for this right now, Angelina."
Before she could finish her edit, the laptop screen was forcibly closed and her roommate towered over her.
"You're going to make time."
Fleur's temper flared.
"What the hell, Angelina? I'm in the middle of my capstone," she shot back, glaring daggers.
"What did you do?" Angelina repeated, taking a step back and folding her arms across her chest.
"What are you talking about? I haven't done anything," exclaimed Fleur, exhausted with the conversation as she stood up.
"What did you do to Harry?"
Fleur's eyes opened wider. Harry?
"What? I didn't do anything to Harry. We had a fight earlier but I didn't do anything to him."
Angelina uncrossed her arms and unlocked her phone, tapping the screen several times before shoving it in Fleur's direction.
"Does that look like someone you've done nothing to?"
Fleur eyes went wide, taking the phone gently, her previous anger dissipating immediately as she stared at the photo. It was Harry and he was drinking in a bar. His shoulders sagged, his head was hanging low, and his whole posture was just wrong. However, it was his face that said the most.
He was hurting.
Fleur looked back up at Angelina with a confused look on her face.
"I don't know," she said, "he wanted to distract me in the computer center with a comic to give me a break and we fought. I told him…"
Fleur's memory of their fight came back to her fully, in complete detail and she gasped, a hand going to her mouth as she felt the wind being knocked out of her.
Maybe it's time to stop with the comics like a little boy!
Boy
The sensation of being punched was almost expected, but it wasn't pain that accompanied it.
Instead, she felt disgust and shame, all directed inward.
Her knees gave way and she fell back into the chair, both hands clutching the sides of her face as her breathing became short and labored. Tears welled in her eyes as the world around her crashed and fell apart, the enormity of what she'd said tearing through her. She'd said the one thing to him that could truly hurt him, and she had done so with such ease.
She felt like a monster.
"Oh no," she whispered, as she rocked back and forth, "No, I didn't mean- I, I shouldn't-"
Angelina knelt in front of her, grabbed both of her hands, and pulled them from her face.
"Fleur, breathe, you need to breathe," she commanded and Fleur nodded, attempting to take several deep breaths with only middling success. "In and out, that's right. Just breathe. I won't have both of you going down right now."
Fleur nodded again as she gripped Angelina's hands tightly, letting the action pull her back from the panic, but the disgust remained, the feeling of self-loathing rising.
"I didn't mean to say it," she whispered, not able to conjure more for fear that she would lose it again. "I was just so focused on the capstone and I was so pissed at my father, I just…oh no, no, I've lost him Angie, he'll never forgive me."
"Do you love him?" Angelina asked, her face a mixture of concern and stern determination.
"What?"
Fleur's mind reeled at the sudden change as the two locked eyes.
"Do. You. Love. Him?"
Fleur closed her eyes and the memory of her confrontation with Marge flooded back into her mind, the words she spoke pushing their way back into the forefront.
If you ever speak or so much as look at my Harry again, so help me, I will make it my life's mission to ensure the remainder of your miserable existence is nothing short of a violation of the Geneva Conventions!
"Yes," she whispered.
"Why?" demanded Angelina.
Her eyes opened wide.
"What?"
Angelina's demeanor didn't change, not a fraction.
"Why do you love him?"
"Because he's-" Fleur started, her breathing starting to become more regular. "He's everything I've been missing. He's the best part of my day and the one thing I know will turn the shittiest experience into something worth remembering."
"And?"
"And he's the first person I text when I get up in the morning and the last that I think about when I go to sleep," she continued. "And when I'm not with him I don't feel like myself. I feel like part of me is gone, and it's only right when he's around. When I'm around him I feel like my true self."
She looked back at Angelina, tears running down her face.
"He doesn't love me though," she said sadly, her voice breaking, "the night at the party, we- we almost kissed, but he pulled back. He didn't want to kiss me."
Angelina unlocked her phone again, holding the picture in front of Fleur's face.
"There's clearly more to that man's misery than just a bad fight."
Fleur gave her a pleading look.
"I love Harry but I don't know what to do," she said.
Angelina smirked and stood, pulling Fleur up along with her. She brushed the tears from Fleur's eyes and placed a hand on each shoulder, a wide smile spreading across her face.
"You go out and get your man, Blondie. You go out and fix it."
.
.
When she arrived at the Leaky Cauldron Fleur wasn't sure what to expect. She'd never been to the place herself, though Angelina had mentioned it on more than one occasion. Its proximity to campus made it an ideal spot for students to come, and it had a reputation for accepting student IDs. As she walked through the doors, low music filled the sparsely populated space, a smattering of what appeared to be students and regulars spread across the bar and various tables throughout.
She scanned the room and her heart sank when she saw him, hunched over, clutching a water as Ron hovered next to him. The concern on Ron's face was an equal match for the dazed look on Harry's, the drinks having done their work as intended. He'd come here to dull it all, to get away from whatever was going through his mind, and she had caused it.
Once again, the guilt threatened to overwhelm her before she took a deep breath.
She was here to fix it, not make it worse.
Ron spotted her halfway across the room and narrowed his eyes in accusation on her approach.
"Angelina said she was sending help," he whispered, though his eyes softened as he caught sight of her face.
"I am the help, or rather, I hope to be."
"I can hear the whispers," Harry said, absentmindedly waving a hand over his head before drinking a bit more water. "I'm not four. I know when the grownups are talking about me."
Ron shook his head before turning back to her.
"Look, I don't know what's happening with you two, but you can use my place to sort it out, it's not far. He's started to sober up some and can sleep on the couch. I'll make myself scarce."
Ron fished in his pocket for his keys before handing them to her. "I'm in building three, room-"
"I know which one," she interrupted, nodding her head.
"Weird that you do, but alright," Ron said with a cocked eyebrow before turning back to Harry, gripping his shoulder.
"Hang in there buddy," he said before Harry turned in the stool he was on and saw Fleur for the first time. His eyes widened before he looked at Ron.
"I'd like to go somewhere else now, Ron," he said and Fleur fought back the urge to recoil. She deserved that, so she didn't have a right to complain.
Ron nodded down at his friend as he was slipping into his jacket.
"You and Fleur are gonna go back to my room. She'll get you there safe and situated on the couch, alright?"
Harry shook his head, a petulant gesture, but one done with a head and belly full of alcohol.
"I'd rather not."
"Yeah, and I don't want to see you drink until you pass out," Ron replied with an exasperated sigh.
"You two," he said, pointing between the two of them, "need to work out whatever is going on. Alone. I almost lost my best friend once to a poor decision, I won't allow another to tear him apart."
With that, Ron walked out of the pub, letting the door slam behind him. She looked back at Harry, noticing that he'd let his head drop.
"Come on," she said gently, "let's get you back to Ron's."
The two walked in silence, a thick, suffocating fog forming between them. Fleur tried to speak several times, opening and closing her mouth, the words refusing to come out each time. He should be angry with her, she'd accept all the screams and curses he could throw her way, and she'd accept them knowing they were justified, but the silence made it worse. He stumbled a few times as they walked, and she did her best to help steady him, but he refused to say anything.
As the door to Ron's dorm room closed behind them and Harry settled on the couch, she felt as if she were teetering on the abyss between salvation and destruction. Either was likely. Finally, she sat on the coffee table in front of the couch as Harry sunk into the cushions and leaned his head back.
"I'm so, so sorry, Harry," she finally said, her voice breaking and full of remorse. "There's nothing I can say to make it right, or better, but I'm truly sorry. I understand if you hate me, but I wanted you to know anyway."
He lifted his head up and yawned, his battle to stay awake clearly on the downward trajectory. It wouldn't be long before he fell asleep, she realized, so she had to fix it before that happened.
He shook his head.
"I said something horrible too, something I feel awful about. She was right, though. She always is."
"What? She?"
He nodded.
"Fleur, she was right. I am a child. A boy. Probably always will be. You know, you look a lot like her."
He was drunk, she reminded herself, and he didn't recognize who he was talking to. That made it worse, she realized, that he'd driven himself so far that he couldn't tell who she was anymore.
Or maybe he just saw the ugliness that she felt on the inside and it had changed his perception of her.
She knelt down in front of him and gripped both of his hands.
"You're not a boy, Harry," she said firmly, willing him to believe it.
"I'm still not good enough for her," he argued, but it came out slurred and his eyes were beginning to drop.
"You've always been good enough for her," she said, pushing some of his messy black hair from in front of his face. "It's her who isn't good enough for you. She told me that herself."
His eyes widened at her words and he shook his head.
"That unpossible. I'm just- just nobody. Just Harry."
She cupped his cheek with her hand and tears began to fall slowly from her eyes.
"And that's all she ever needed you to be," Fleur said, stroking his cheek gently with her thumb, "because you helped her see that it was okay to be what she always wanted to be. You showed her it was okay to be just Fleur."
Harry sighed and yawned again.
"You wanna know a secret?" he asked, his hand coming up to hold hers as she continued to brush her thumb softly against his face. "I was gonna tell her today. I was gonna tell her and surprise her."
She tilted her head.
"Tell her what?"
"I was gonna tell her that I love her. That I've loved her for a while. I dunno when it started. Probably somewhere between when she offered me money for a book and when we watched a movie in the quad."
His eyes focused enough to finally meet hers and he smiled.
"I love Fleur Delacour."
"I know," she said and he laughed, sending a pang of hurt through her chest as she took her hand back. He pointed at her as his laughter died but his eyes still held the humor. She looked down, unwilling to show the pain.
"See? That's why I love her, because she would know that's the right answer. That I didn't need her to say it back. That she…"
The hurt of his laughter died instantly at his words and she smiled before looking up at him.
He had fallen asleep.
She grabbed the blanket thrown haphazardly onto the other side of the couch, draped it over him, pausing as she did, realization hitting her.
She'd been stupid, jumping to conclusions, and she felt no small amount of embarrassment at her actions. It didn't matter why he pulled back that night, why he didn't close the distance and kiss her. She now knew that he loved her.
Fleur loves Harry and Harry loves Fleur.
That thought washed away all remaining doubt or uncertainty about her feelings, the sense of rejection and hurt that night had brought her, withering until it was nothing but dust.
She leaned down and placed a soft kiss on his cheek.
"I know, Harry. I know."
.
.
He awoke just past midday, his head feeling as if it were being repeatedly split in two, the memories of the previous evening a haze. He tossed the blanket off and saw the glass of water and two aspirin on the table. He was in Ron's place, so Ron must have left them. Downing the tablets and the entire glass of water, he set to work trying to remember what had happened.
"Alright, let's see," he said to himself, wondering if everyone who woke up with a hangover talked to themselves, "I went for drinks with Ron, drank a lot, drank some more, then someone brought me back here."
He paced in front of the couch, willing himself to remember. As he thought, digging deep into his memories, he froze.
Oh shit.
Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.
He had told Fleur he loved her.
He had told Fleur he loved her and then promptly passed the fuck out.
Who does that?
He sprang into action, his head pounding as he ran to the bathroom and turned on the shower. Stripping out of his clothes he reached under the sink and pulled his hidden set of clothes and toothbrush out from the back corner, long forgotten since the start of the school year. He'd stashed them here in case he ever had to crash at Ron's.
He sent a silent thank you to his past self for the foresight.
He sped through the shower, idly noticing Ron was out of shampoo and had virtually no toothpaste left before he had his shoes back on and was walking quickly out the door. He didn't even bother to lock it. He looked at his phone and picked up the pace. Mid afternoon. She'd be in the computer center on her couch. It didn't matter what happened the previous night, she would be there.
She had to be there.
He had to explain, blame it on the drinks, the smells in Ron's room, something. He couldn't let that be how he told her.
He'd been hurt, deeply hurt by her words, but he suspected he'd hurt her too, his scathing retort replaying through his mind. He felt horrible, throwing her desire to step out from the long shadow of her father into her face had been cruel. Hell, it was downright petty.
He just wished he could remember what she'd said last night. Stupid, stupid drinks. He entered the computer center and made for the stairwell.
He quickly climbed the stairs heading up to the second floor, pausing as he reached the entry. There she was, exactly where she always was at this time of day, her bag in the exact same spot it always was on the floor. Looking over, he saw that she was reading Hermione's book, or rather, re-reading it, if the creases on the spine were any indication. As he walked over she made no move to take her eyes from the page or acknowledge his presence.
He sat down and took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. He turned towards her and, for a brief moment, he was worried that she would ignore him completely. Just as panic began to rise she launched herself at him, pushing him down onto the couch, the book tumbling to the floor as she slammed her lips onto his in a heated, passionate kiss.
His eyes opened wide and he froze, the shock of the act rooting him in place, unable to move. His brain no longer functioned and all he could do was let it continue because it was the best thing that had ever happened to him. Her soft, pillowy lips tasted like minty toothpaste with just the smallest hint of buttercream as a jolt of warmth spread through him.
Time began to move again and he deepened the kiss, feeding as much love and caring into it as he could.
As they broke apart his hands settled on her hips and her arms propped her up to hover over him. She smiled down at him.
"I love you too."
.
.
.
AN: With the epilogue coming up I just wanted to pop in and say thank you for reading this silly little non-magic college AU story. I'm truly humbled by the reaction this has gotten and I want to thank everyone who took the time to read it.
Thank you to OfficeSloth and DJKopper for beta reading this and helping me make it better. Double thank you to DJKopper for letting me borrow one of his OC's for a bit of lighthearted fun.
None of this would have been possible without Foreal the Chronicler. His creativity put this idea out there and his kind words of encouragement, not to mention putting up with my very rough drafts, drove me to complete it. Foreal, you're a pillar of the community and a shining example of why Flowerpot is so welcoming.
If you enjoyed this story feel free to stop by our humble community and discover even more great tales. We love to meet new people and welcome any who wish to hop in.
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