Chapter Text
Harry stepped out of the French Ministry terminal into the late-afternoon Parisian sunlight feeling absolutely drained.
The magical part of the city was an incredible sight in the warming light as always, but he found himself too weary to appreciate it.
He sighed as he saw the couples walking arm-in-arm along the sidewalks, or leaning against the railing together, watching the Seine and chatting.
It was just his luck that he, a twenty-two year old bachelor had to attend so many meetings in the most romantic city in the world.
Not that there'd been any lack of offers, of course.
Harry had been downright dumbfounded at the exponential increase in the amount of fan mail that flooded his inbox.
Everything from sincere thanks to marriage proposals landed on his desk every day, and it was a running gag among his colleagues to see him arrive in the morning and sigh at the fresh stack on parchment.
But as he stared at a guy and a girl sitting on a bench, holding hands, it was very easy for his mind to imagine himself in a similar position with a brunette best friend of his...
He shook his head firmly.
Many had been surprised that he hadn't used his brief, yet very real peak of popularity to immediately make himself the chief warlock or something. The thought had certainly crossed his mind.
Right before he remembered all the people who'd died for him, who had given up their lives so that that very same corruption could end.
He'd instead enrolled in the Auror workforce and had put in hard work in the field, and that peak of his fame had passed until he was just a national hero, no longer the second coming of Merlin.
All his hard work led up to him being required for meetings with foreign delegates every so often, as a mere showpiece. Any British delegation looked more competent with the 'Man-who-conquered' at their side.
The British aurors' joint task-force meetings with their French counterparts that day had dragged on for almost three hours.
After an unhealthy amount of translated political jargon and the general condescension that the French never failed to show toward the English, he almost found himself missing those missions where his job was to fling spells first and ask questions later.
Almost.
He rolled his shoulders, loosened his tie, and started down the wide stone steps toward the street, already calculating how soon he could Floo home and pretend the entire day hadn’t happened.
He almost walked straight into her.
Tall, model-esque stature, flowing silvery-blonde hair and those crystalline blue eyes that had enraptured half(actually, all) of Hogwarts eight years ago.
Those curves, barely past the cusp of adolescence back then, had since begun their steady blossoming that a Veela's maturing entailed. If Harry had been blown away by her when she was seventeen, he was in for a whole lot more trouble now.
At twenty-five years of age, Fleur Delacour had hit the prime of her beauty, one which was bound to carry on for decades thanks to her Veela genetics.
She wore a white shirt layered with a deep blue jacket that had the French ministry's insignia on it, and a professional black skirt, with leggings to complete her ensemble.
Harry stopped dead.
Fleur’s gaze landed on him, and a slow, knowing smile curved her mouth.
"Harry," she smiled. "Didn't expect to see you."
Fleur's English had improved leaps and bounds.
"It's been a while," Harry replied, but drew a raised eyebrow from some reason.
"Seems like someone's been practicing their French," she said, but her voice sounded a little filtered, almost like...
Harry groaned and waved his wand over himself.
"Translation charm was still on, sorry,"
She laughed. "So you are as tired as you look."
He grimaced. "Long day."
She gave him a once over, then turned, perhaps deciding that her work at the ministry wasn't that important.
"Come," she said, "Let us take a walk."
And so they did.
"And I agree, it has been too long," she continued conversationally. "When was the last time we met?"
"Right after the war," Harry couldn't help the barest of grimaces from crossing his face. "Where did you disappear off to anyway?"
Now it was Fleur's turn to frown.
"Ah... well, Bill and I broke up shortly after. And seeing as there was no more danger and that Britain was rebuilding, I came back home,"
Harry raised his eyebrows. "So that's why he goes all quiet when we mention you."
There was a nice, gentle breeze, carrying the aroma of baked goods and perfumes. Harry idly saw the pigeons fluttering about the riverbanks, picking at thrown food. A gaggle of children let out peals of laughter as they raced each other along the sidewalk.
"I knew his family didn't like me all that much, either,"
"You fighting alongside them changed their opinion of you, I'm sure," Harry frowned.
"Well, the issue was not that. Bill... he wanted children. And soon."
Harry raised an eyebrow. "I'm guessing you didn't?"
"You're a sharp one," she snarked, but she was smiling. "I... don't want children, ever."
Harry just nodded, and they continued their pleasant amble, enjoying the sights of Paris descending into evening.
"You've grown," she said.
It was true. Through rigorous training and proper, nutritional meals that Auror work demanded, he had finally filled out into his full potential, recovering from the long while he'd spent on the run, scavenging for food.
He'd always been scrawny and had been shorter than her the last time they'd met.
Not that that was something ridiculous, since Fleur was a tall woman herself.
But now he had a few inches on her, and it was a novel experience to look at the beauty from a different angle.
Harry just chuckled. "Auror training will do that to you,"
"You should advise my sister, Gabrielle. She's about to be seventeen and she's still the shortest in her year," Fleur snickered.
Harry just laughed. "How is she, anyway? Any trauma from the second task?"
"We managed to convince her it was just a bad dream until she was old enough to understand," she said. Her eyes caught his, and then lingered on her face.
"You truly do look frustrated. Auror life is not kind," she said.
He let out a bitter chuckle. "It's honest work... mostly. I’m actually thinking of getting out of the field."
He hadn't meant to elaborate, but found himself doing so.
"I want to move up to the head of department position someday,"
Fleur’s eyebrows rose. “Interesting. That position requires... friends in the right places. Connections. Do you have those?”
"I'm aware," his shoulder slumped. "The list of people I need to impress is already headache-inducing. I don't know if I'm built for that kind of politicking."
She regarded him for a long moment, then seemed to reach a decision.
“Come to the château tonight,” she said. “My parents and Gabrielle are in the south for the month. It is quiet, so we can speak properly."
Then she laughed as his stomach audibly rumbled. "You could use a decent meal that is not Ministry catering.”
Harry hesitated only a second. “All right. Thank you.”
The Delacour château sat in rolling countryside an hour outside Paris, pale stone and climbing roses and windows that caught the last orange hues of the sunset.
He was greeted warmly by her as the he entered, the green flames of the Floor dying around him.
She wore a white t-shirt and jeans, and of course, fashion accessories to remind him that she was French after all.
Inside, the house was cool and elegant without being cold. He eyed the old, dark wood, soft lighting, and could smell the faint scent of something floral and expensive.
They ate on a smaller, more personal dining table compared to the huge, long piece in the main dining room. They talked companionably, catching up on each other's lives.
"So yeah, that's why Ginny and I decided to go back to being friends," Harry said.
"That is... understandable," Fleur said as she cut her chicken elegantly.
Harry laughed at her restrained expression. "Out with it," he said, "She never liked you and I know the feeling was mutual."
Fleur smiled despite herself. "We never really saw eye-to-eye, just like her mother. But I won't let out my frustrations about her on you, not while enjoying a nice meal."
"Looks like someone's finally matured," he replied cheekily. "You've come a long way from the girl who turned her nose up at every foolish Englishman."
She grimaced. "Ah... the past few years have served well to humble me."
He stood as he finished, only for her to stop him.
"Who ends a meal without some wine?" she smirked coyly.
She poured wine in fancy glasses, and led him out onto a wide terrace that overlooked the darkening gardens.
Harry just took in the crisp, clean air, letting the starry sky wash over him.
They talked about the meeting, the state of Anglo-French cooperation. Basically, nothing important for a while. Harry found himself relaxing in a way he hadn’t in months.
Eventually the conversation circled back.
“So,” Fleur said, swirling her glass. “Head of the Department. You are serious.”
“I am. While meetings are boring, I'm done almost dying on every mission. And...”
He met her eyes. "I'll be able to change so much more in a position of actual power."
Fleur was looking at him appraisingly. "What was it that Hermione said you had? Ah, the saving-people-thing."
He chuckled, but then sighed. "But you’re right. I need recommendations."
"Why not just... ask?" she peered at him over the glinting rim of her glass. "I'm sure they'd be happy to give the position to their savior."
"Well, they would have, if they hadn't realized I'm bloody pants at the subtler parts of the job," he said. "I've embarrassed myself way too many times in interviews and diplomacy. I just sit and look pretty in meetings," he huffed.
Fleur giggled, then took the last sip of her wine.
She set her glass down and leaned against the stone balustrade, the movement making the line of her throat and the curve of her breasts under the fabric impossible to ignore.
“I am one of those important people,” she said softly. “My signature on a letter would open certain doors for you. The French Ministry listens when I speak.”
Harry’s pulse kicked up, picking up what she was putting down for him. “And what would it cost me?”
She giggled again. "Direct. I like that."
Then she stepped closer, and leaned up to whisper in his ear.
"I've been curious about you for a long time, Harry, and now that you've shown up looking so much more delicious, I find myself wanting..."
Goosebumps prickled his skin and he looked down at her, her crystalline eyes glimmering coyly.
"Really?" was all he could ask.
Instead of replying, she trailed a finger down his chest. She turned and trailed away, her hips swaying invitingly.
Harry's blood pumped. He didn't need to be told twice.
Her bedroom was large, the bed a wide expanse of white linen and carved wood. Fleur closed the door with a soft click and turned to him. She reached up and slowly unpinned her hair, and silver-blonde silk spilled over her shoulders.
Harry crossed the space between them and kissed her.
It was not gentle.
Months of nothing crashed into the reality of her mouth, and her lips tasted of wine.
Fleur made a low sound of approval and opened for him, one hand sliding into his hair, the other already working at the buttons of his shirt.
He backed her toward the bed, shrugging out of his jacket. He was on top of her and shook his leg to kick off his boots.
She pushed him off for a moment and pulled off her t-shirt and shimmied out of her jeans.
She wore black lace that did more to highlight than conceal. Her curves were absolutely devastating, and his cock was rock-hard.
He felt his knees buckle.
“Fuck,” Harry muttered, and she laughed.
“Eloquent as ever.”
Then she stood, and began to sink down his body, and he watched her smirk widen as she pulled down his pants and boxers, his hard cock whipping out.
Fleur wrapped her fingers around him, already aching, and gave him a slow, assessing stroke. “Been a while?”
“Since Ginny," he managed, and thankfully Fleur didn't get offended at the mention of another woman.
“Looks like you have much to catch up on," she smirked.
She leaned in and licked a long, wet stripe from base to tip, eyes never leaving his.
Harry’s hips twitched. Fleur smiled, then took the head into her mouth and sank down.
The heat and wetness of her mouth were almost too much after months of nothing.
She worked him in an unhurried manner with slow, deep strokes of her lips.
Her tongue swirled under the head on every stroke, while the other gently felt his ballsack.
She took him way too perfectly. It was like her throat had been molded around his cock.
Damn Veela, Harry groaned mentally.
The soft, wet sounds of it filled the quiet room.
Harry’s hand held onto her soft hair, and tried his hardest not to pull any way.
He tried to stay still, to let her set the pace, but every time she hollowed her cheeks and sucked harder his control frayed a little more.
“Fleur, fuck--”
She hummed around him, the vibration shooting straight up his spine.
Her free hand cupped his balls as she took him, her nose nearly brushing his stomach.
The sight of her, silver hair spilling between his fingers and those soft lips stretched around his cock was obscene and perfect. He'd never thought he'd see anything like it.
Harry lasted just a little more than two minutes. The orgasm hit him hard, and he gasped as he came down her throat.
Fleur stayed with him through it, swallowing around him, milking every pulse.
Only then did she pull off with a soft, satisfied sound, wiping the corner of her mouth with her thumb.
“That good, was it?” she murmured, amused.
"Sorry," Harry murmured.
“Do not apologize.” She guided him onto the bed and clambered on with him.
She smiled as she tugged down her panties. Her mound was perfectly hairless, pink lips drooling slightly.
She straddled him properly, rubbing her slick folds along the length of his half-hard cock.
Harry watched as his sensitive tip pressed against those wonderful lips, and began to harden again.
Even spent, his body was already stirring under the wet heat of her. Fleur reached down, guided him, and sank onto his cock in one slow, continuous slide.
The second she took him fully they both exhaled.
“Still interested, I see,” she said, voice low and pleased.
Harry’s hands settled on her hips, and a smile was beginning to make its way onto his face as the anxiousness from a long while of abstinence faded away. “You make it easy.”
She began to ride him with slow, rolling movements that let her feel every inch of him.
Her lips were parted slightly, and she was smiling. She reached behind herself to unhook her bra and let it fall away.
Her breasts were just as perfect as he'd suspected. Soft, wonderful mounds begging to be groped.
He sat up, wrapped an arm around her waist, and took one tight nipple into his mouth.
Fleur’s head fell back with a soft moan. Her rhythm grew sharper, warm skin rolling against his more insistently.
Harry slipped a hand between them and found her clit with his thumb, circling in time with the rise and fall of her hips. Her eyes glinted with pleasant surprise and her hips stuttered.
“Mm, yes,"
She came with a broken sound, inner muscles fluttering and clenching around him. Harry watched that beautiful Veela face undergo an orgasm, and decided he needed to see more of that.
Harry flipped them without pulling out, and she laughed against his ear as he wasted no time in getting back into rhythm.
He was driving into her with deeper, harder thrusts.
Fleur’s legs wrapped around his waist tighter, soft thighs enveloping his hips. Her nails raked lightly down his back.
“Harder,” she breathed. “I will not break.”
He gave her harder. The second orgasm built lower and stronger, rolling up from the base of his spine.
When it hit he groaned her name into her mouth.
It took all of his formidable willpower to pull out, and he moaned as he coated her front in white, the voluminous amount painting strips across her tummy.
Fleur smirked, running a hand down her skin, feeling the substance.
"I appreciated that, Harry," she said, "But we Veela can control out fertility."
Harry just groaned and collapsed next to her. The thought of having missed out on coming deep inside Fleur Delacour was heartbreaking.
She just laughed.
They were breathing heavily as they rested, and after a while Fleur propped on one elbow, watching him with those unreadable blue eyes.
“You know,” she said offhandedly, almost as if the thought had just occurred to her, “you could bribe any witch this way and you would be Head of Department in no time.”
Harry went still.
It seemed that Voldemort or not, he mused, his life was bound to be unusual. Because he was just realizing that there was a list of influential names that, conveniently, contained attractive young women who could no doubt help propel him to the heights he desired.
He had that, and now a method that had just proven extremely effective.
He looked at Fleur. She was watching him with a small, knowing smile, as if she had already seen the exact moment the realisation landed.
“You’re serious,” he said.
"Maybe," she stood and headed to the shower, no doubt aware he was following the movements of her naked body with his gaze.
She looked over her shoulder, eyes glimmering with mirth.
“My letter will be on your desk by the end of the week. Use it well.”