Flowerpot

The beauty of a good listener, priceless compassion, a robustness of character, a powerful realness and intellect that made all other women look thin and fragile as paper in comparison. That was his wife. That was who she was when her name was Fleur Delacour and it was her now that she was a Potter.

Yet, for all the honesty of her soul, Fleur Potter was still a stunningly gorgeous woman.

The river of silver that was her hair had been braided and wrapped into a bun at the back of her head. The elegant twists, eye-catching on their own, were heightened by the sunflower yellow hair clip nestled at the top of the braided bun, a splash of color in the shape of gently curving wings. It was a gift from her mother, given after Fleur's rite-of-passage when she turned eighteen.

The orange light of an autumn sun served it's only purpose as a spotlight, throwing the nearly invisible freckles under Fleur's eyes into view. Constellations only Harry had ever been close enough to map out fully.

His eyes continued their descent. Delicious lips, at times both generous and demanding. A neck, sumptuous and slender, curving to meet the narrow bridge making up her collarbones.

A dress of burnt sienna wrapped about one shoulder before flowing downwards, resting at the middle of her calves. The dress accentuated as much as it hid, hinting at the lush lines of Fleur's figure, all delicate curves and cutting angles. An outfit whose modesty was made a mockery by the woman who wore it. Through sheer force of will Harry reengaged his brain. He had to compliment her, let her know just how jaw droppingly magnificent she was, how his heart beat with his love for her. She smiled at him, watching, waiting, knowing. Poems formed and died on his tongue.

"Fuck," he said distractedly.

A delectably raised eyebrow, a twitch of her lips, a dance in her eyes, "Dinner first, I think," was her breathy, amused reply.

Harry shook his head, chiding himself. Caught flat-footed at his own wife's beauty, a ridiculous notion to be sure, if a fairly uncommon one in his life. "No, damn it. Give me a redo," he muttered resolutely, glancing at her.

She nodded solemnly at him, a hint of glee quickly stifled.

He cleared his throat, scratched the back of his head, shuffled his feet a bit, and looked at her. He had always been bad with words. It had taken him months to feel decent about his wedding vows. His ineloquence was a source of anxiety at times. Fleur deserved good words, beautiful words, words that extolled her character and significance. Harry just could never seem to construct them correctly. Fleur waited patiently for him, watching him silently.

"You are… a gorgeous autumn day given form," he said, gesturing to the yellow hairclip and reddish-orange dress. Blood suffused his cheeks, he could feel the burning of his face acutely. A sense of smallness and stupidity eroding him.

His wife smiled, reaching up to pull him by his collared shirt downwards so that her lips could reach his. They were hungry, possessive. Harry deepened the kiss, his hands clutching at the small of her back, right above the delectable swell of flesh below. His mouth seeking, claiming… worshipful. A low, feminine moan vibrated against his tongue.

Harry felt drunk, victorious, in love. The taste of pomegranates he associated with his wife overtaking his senses as he tried to show her without clumsy words what she meant to him. Yes, words had never been his strong suit. He preferred action.

He could hear the question was thick with emotion and paused to consider what she was asking. These were delicate moments, he shouldn't respond without forethought. He recalled, all too well, how fragile he'd been when he talked with Dumbledore, in the hospital wing, after killing Quirrell.

"In what way?" He wanted a clarification. Was this in respect to a romantic interest? Was this some kind of misplaced in adequacy for not doing more? Or, was this for having killed and losing her innocence?

An answer didn't come, Harry felt hot tears on shoulder, sobs coming from the older girl.

Harry closed his eyes, he needed to help her through this.

"I don't think less of you, Fleur." He dropped his head on top of hers and risked upsetting his ribs by lightly squeezing her between his left arm and chest. "If anything, I think more of you now. You didn't run, you didn't cower." He let his words sink in before he spoke further, he let her breathing calm.

"I was in awe of you." He breathed out quietly, remembering a specific moment.

She pulled her head off his shoulder and her eyes sought his. She stared at him; the proud arrogant girl missing. In her place was a fragile young lady.

But that wasn't what Harry saw. He saw a remarkable young woman, one that had willing walked into a lair of acromantula. She'd killed, been wounded and done what was necessary to come back out alive.

"You were amazing, you stood your ground, you controlled the battlefield with your flames and you never gave in, even after you were wounded. I could barely tear my eyes off of you, after Cuddles saved us, you were glorious." Harry ardently announced.

"I couldn't think less of you, not after seeing that. I doubt I could respect you more than I did in that moment, seeing you wounded and defending against the last of the spiders."

He broke eye contact with her. Perhaps he shouldn't have said it, he shouldn't have been so open and honest with her. But he knew this was critical. If he'd been told he was growing up to be a monster, just like Voldemort, after the Chamber, after Quirrell, he'd be a different person today. He wouldn't fail Fleur, he wouldn't let her question whether her actions made her a horrible person, not when they were in self defense, the defense of others.

"Don't let anyone disparage you for today. You fought and bled to keep us safe, honestl-" Any further comments were cut off, his lips had been captured, captured by Fleur's.

Her lips were soft, warm, was a delicacy to the kiss, an expression of deep emotions, this wasn't a lust filled snogging. Her lips moved slowly, deliberately. Her hand found his cheek and she traced his jawline.

Eventually, her magnetic lips released their pull on him. She kept her hand of his face, ensuring he looked her in the eyes, he could feel her breath on his face. "'Arry, I'm falling for you."

Fleur slowly raised her hand to Harry’s face, brushing his cheek with her thumb as if to make sure he really existed. With a whisper that quietly escaped from the very depths of her soul she exclaimed.

“It was you.”

Time stood still. She could see Harry’s own realization dawn like twin stars in his own eyes, and their magic froze in anticipation. His face was quite striking, she thought absently. Deep, kind green eyes, hair wild like a storm, lips full and gorgeous and… Oh. So... Close.

Their magic erupted in triumph as the two finally kissed, Fleur’s hand reaching into his thick locks of black hair and grasping him tight, her act of passion only matched by Harry’s own; his arm pulling her tightly against his body as if trying to encompass her whole being. Fire and lightning encircled them in a multi-colored firework display sending shivers down both of their intertwined bodies.

They lost track of time, kissing, nipping at each other’s lips and necks, and giggling, each unwilling to leave the other’s arms now that they had found each other. The reasons for their personal connection could no longer be attributed to their respective heritages; their magic had already met, danced, and found each other worthy. As if ordained by past lives, their familiars and energies had loved each other before the two even realized, and now they reveled in that truth.

Fleur stepped away from him and turned on the spot grabbing the first boy she saw. She hoped that this would work. That this male would have more control than Bill Weasley. Even if he didn't his lust hadn't been building up all day. It would be easier to control, to manipulate to her needs. She had to get away from him. At any cost.

"Where 'ave you been?" she demanded, putting her lips against the unknown boys. The lips were soft, not rough and lustful like all other kisses she had experienced. To her surprise he didn't kiss back. He didn't pull back either, but Fleur suspected that was due to pure shock that she had spontaneously kissed him. Slowly, uncertainly, she felt him kiss her back. His lips opened slightly and Fleur slid her tongue into his mouth and was sliding it over his teeth and exploring the depths of his mouth. Her mind seemed to cloud over as the boys tongue began to fight for control. It was now his turn to explore her mouth. Her hands were in his hair and she could feel his on the small of her back, pulling her closer. It was complete bliss. She had never experienced anything like it. Her mind had lost control of her body. The need for oxygen soon became overwhelming and Fleur was forced, reluctantly, to pull away.

It was only then that she was able to identify who she had been kissing so passionately. She had never felt anything like it. The unfamiliar feeling of passion had taken control of her. Her mind had gone completely blank and her body had taken over. She stared at the boy recognising him immediately.

"Harry!" Bill shouted, the surprise at seeing Harry Potter kissing the girl he had been lusting after all day causing his eyes to clear. The lust that had filled them moments ago were now wide with shock and mingled with anger.

Harry was staring at Fleur his mouth slightly open. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He didn't seem to have heard Bill. Fleur felt her stomach know when Harry's eyes met hers. They weren't lustful, like Bill's had been. There was something in his eyes that Fleur had barely ever seen before and couldn't place.

Fleur was stunned by the words Harry had spoken. His voice had been so sure, and his eyes were so clear. Before she could think, he had stepped closer and kissed her. His lips were soft and warm. Her eyes slid closed, and she slipped her arms around his waist to pull them closer together. His lips began to feel hotter and hotter, the heat spreading deep inside of her to warm her from her toes up. Fleur initiated movement, needing relief from the heat. Their lips moved together, and Fleur began to feel breathless. An unspoken agreement seemed to keep them from progressing further, and Fleur felt both pained and relieved when they at last pulled apart. Her breaths came faster, and she could feel Harry's heart beating sporadically in his chest. She blushed. That reaction was for her.

When Harry finally opened his eyes, it was to see snow slowly swirling around them. As Fleur's eyes slid open, his breath caught at her sheer beauty. The sapphire of her eyes against the falling snow was striking. He noticed her breaths were coming faster in the cold air, and he reddened. He had done that.

Fleur chanced a glance up, and noticed the flush on Harry's cheeks. When she met his eyes, she knew they'd had the same thought. They both smiled shyly.

The whole room faced Crouch who looked like he had sucked on a lemon, after a moment he declared "His name came out of the Goblet, he must compete or he loses his magic. Just like the others." The room exploded as the adults began shouting at each other, Fleur grabbed Harry by the hand and pulled him into his corner. She had a look in her eye Harry had never seen before, she was quickly removing her scarf "'Ary, do you trust me?" Harry looked her in the eyes and without a moment's hesitation answered her "Yes, Fleur." She smiled at him as she took his hand and laced their fingers together and tied the scarf around them securely "Fleur?" Harry asked. She simply shook her head and looked into his eyes once she was done tying the knot "Do you love me?" She asked him, her eyes searching his sapphire to emerald. He took a deep breath and said with a blush "I do." She gave him a dazzling smile and whispered just loud enough for him to hear "I do, kiss me 'arry."

Harry leaned in his eyes locked on hers and shared their first kiss. Their lips touched, both were surprised at how soft and warm it was. Slowly it became more passionate, after barely a few moments they heard the tinkling of small bells and broke off the kiss and looked at each other. They were wreathed in a golden light and the sound of bells was coming from them, the room had gone silent as everyone stared at them. Dumbledore was the first to speak "Miss Delacour, please step away from Mr. Potter until we decide what is to be done about him entering himself in the tournament." Just before Harry was about to forcefully express that he did not, in fact, enter himself in anything Fleur squeezed his hand "Non, Headmaster Dumbledore. And you will address me correctly, after all. You attended my wedding."

"Oui," She said smoothly and pressed her lips to his in a chaste kiss.

Harry was stunned for a second before he smiled and returned the kiss but he kept it short, knowing where they were. He pulled back from her and grinned, "Really?"

"Oui," Fleur said with a blinding smile.

Harry pressed his forehead to hers and laughed softly, "I thought I had screwed up again when you didn't owl."

"I wanted to tell you in person," Fleur smiled, her accent coming out more in her excitement.

Harry stiffened for a brief moment, and then slowly extracted himself from her arms just far enough that he could look her in the eye. The pain visible in his own broke her heart. He searched for a long moment, giving no clue to what he was looking for, and then–

"Promise?" he whispered, an edge of desperation leaking through.

"I promise, 'Arry," she told him seriously. "I will never leave you."

Harry stared at her for a long moment, his confusion evident. For once, Fleur could easily read what he was thinking: he was wondering why she would so willingly make such a declaration; his problems were enormous, and he felt that nobody else should have to deal with them. He did not understand the effect he had on others around him.

His hand came up tentatively, and he cautiously touched her cheek, wonder blooming behind his eyes. Her heart stopped at the gentle contact, and she had to make a concerted effort not to suck in a breath at the depth of feeling that it evoked in her. And then he did something that she never in a million years would have expected from him.

He leaned in, slowly and cautiously, and pressed his lips to hers.

Fleur was initially so surprised by it that she didn't react, but she was shaken from her shock when he started to pull away again, probably in disappointment. She brought her hand to the back of his head to prevent it, and kissed him back. His relief at her reaction was so profound that she could almost feel it.

It was very different from their first kiss, which she had instigated on a whim. Neither of them were experienced in the arts of romance, but whatever it lacked in technique was made up for by the sheer power of the emotion behind it. She doubted that Harry understood what he was feeling – it was clear that he did not at all understand matters of love – but for the first time, she found hope that she could earn those feelings from him.

When the kiss ended, Fleur did not bother to open her eyes again; wanting to savor the moment, she simply drew him close and wrapped her arms tightly around him. Neither broke the silence, and she was surprised to note that the tension had run out of him, and he was allowing himself to relax fully into her embrace. It was an unusual showing of vulnerability on his part.

"Thank you," she whispered emotionally.

"For what?" he asked bemusedly.

Fleur smiled faintly at his lack of understanding. "For all of zis," she explained quietly. "For sharing yourself wiz me. I love you, 'Arry."

Friends. It was a strange notion. Fleur only really had two true friends. Her father, and her sister. Could she handle a third?

The answer was there even before she could complete the question. Of course she could handle three. She was Fleur Delacour. Her evening with Harry marked the first time she could remember smiling, or laughing, without first considering the worth of those actions. He was worthy of her friendship, of that there was no doubt. He was sharp, bold, and question was, was that all that she wanted from him?

He was young, yes, and they were both competing against each other in the damnable tournament, but what would either of those things matter in a few years? Would she let something as small as a couple of years, a pile of Galleons, and a few thousand kilometres get in the way of the possibility of something more than mere friendship with the only man she'd ever found to be worth more than a passing forced smile? Would she balk, and let the possibility of something greater slip away out of a fear of failure?

She leaned forward and kissed him gently on the lips. It wasn't much more than a peck, really, but with it, she was giving Harry something she'd never given anyone else. Maybe they wouldn't be able to make it work out, but with that briefest of kisses she told him that she was willing to try. When she pulled back, the look of surprise on his face was something she was sure she'd remember for many years.

"I thought, perhaps, we could try to do a little better than that," she said.

Below, they heard a cheer as midnight arrived. Autumn was leaving at last, and a long winter lay before them all. As a slow smile spread across Harry's features, Fleur thought that this might be the first time she would be happy to bid Autumn adieu. Winter had never looked better.

Fleur led him to the base of the tree, her blue eyes glowed with serenity as they roved the sight of the tree.

Harry, for the first time, took in the beautiful scenery that surrounded the tree. He understood at once why Fleur loved this place. Everything looked peaceful, like a garden in the Isle of the blessed. Even the wind has a different feel to it here.

"No one ever comes here except me," Fleur said, as she settled her bark against the tree.

"It's beautiful," said Harry. And he meant it. Fleur unhooked his chain from her belt and patted the ground beside her, indicating for him to sit.

"Can I ask you to do something for me Harry?" Fleur asked, her eyes were tracking the flow of the spring.

"Of course, Mistress Fleur."

"Fleur," she corrected. "Call me Fleur, please. No mistress and pet today. We are equals and I would like you to stand alongside me as an equal."

She turned to face him. Blue eyes were shining with an intensity that rivalled the sun. He smiled at her and nodded his head in accordance. "What would you like me to do for you… Fleur?"

Her smile grew brighter, if possible at the sound of her name on his lips. "I want you to braid my hair." Fleur replied, leaning very close to him so much that their bodies pressed against each other.

Harry was caught off-guard by her request. Fleur smiled at him. "You think about it, don't you?" She asked. "It is how you keep away the pain."

"Yes," admitted Harry, even though he knew it wasn't a question.

"You have more than once imagined running your hands through them." Harry froze. Fleur's smile turned mischievous.

"Veelas are capable of inspiring attraction in the minds of even their fiercest enemies."

"So it is the allure then," Harry said, brow furrowed." Fleur shook her head. "No," she replied. "The allure is not capable of making you think my hair as beautiful. It is a charm only to impress.

"You thought my hair beautiful when I asked you to focus on pleasant thoughts about me. You were able to find true beauty in my hair despite the horrible things I did to you. You found light within darkness, and even if I did not deserve it you were able to look past my horrible actions to the soul beneath. That is why I love you, Harry Potter."

Harry wanted to say something but came up short. He wanted to tell Fleur that some part of him still hated her for what she did to him and that would never change. He wanted to tell her that another part of him understood her actions and admired her courage to go through anything for the sake of her sister. He wanted to tell her how he was sorry that her family had to suffer as they did at the hands of Voldemort. He wanted to tell her how he was glad that she found love even though it was wasted on someone living on borrowed time.

None of those words left his lips, for they abandoned him and evaporated at the tip of his tongue.

The air between them disappeared with his unspoken words. Harry wrapped his arms around her body and pulled her to him, closing the little gap that was left between.

He leaned his head downwards to meet Fleur's, his lips sensual against hers. Time seemed to have stopped for a moment. His heart was beating fast, like a wild animal trying to escape its cage. Her tongue tasted of Marzipan again. She took his lower lip teasingly in her mouth. Something fluttered in his chest as their lips fell into a perfect tandem. Fleur's hands came to rest around his neck as she pulled him closer.

"No," she said with amusement. "There aren't many, but there are a few ugly ones. They have to use their allure more often to make them seem prettier than they really are."

He moved his hands to her hips and went up her sides with the last of the lotion, causing her to giggle and squirm. "You're ticklish."

"A little," she said as she danced out of his reach and turned around. Carefully, she pulled her strings back and retied her top. "Perhaps one day you can do my front too," she told him with a smile that melted him before she stepped back over. "Because you wore your new swimsuit, it's time for your last present."

Harry had never really thought about it, but as she stepped up to him and put her arms around his neck, he realized they were the same height. All thought left him as she closed her eyes and moved her lips to his.

When they parted, he found that his hands were on her sides and he could feel every inch of her that was pressed against him.

"Not bad, but let's try again. I'm not sure you were ready," she told him breathily.

They kissed again and he paid a lot more attention, trying to at least match her.

"Better," she told him when they stopped. "I think more practice will help and we can try again later … if you want."

Actually, he was having a hard time answering as his brain was still recovering from the idea that he had just kissed a Veela. "Yeah, that'd be lovely."

"Good," she told him as she reached for the pot of lotion and began to spread in on the front of herself, watching him the whole time.