You are the only Flower of my Life

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Chapter 8 (When Magic Sings) and Chapter 9 (The Flask and The Map) are already available for Patrons.

Harry found Fleur in their usual spot by the lake, her silvery-blonde hair catching the weak February sunlight. She wore a thick powder-blue Beauxbatons cloak over her uniform, her hands wrapped around a steaming cup of French hot chocolate. Unlike her usual confident posture, her shoulders were hunched slightly, and she kept glancing at the dark waters with unmistakable apprehension.

"Hey," Harry said softly, settling beside her on the enchanted blanket they'd placed over the frost-covered grass. He wore his Gryffindor scarf loosely around his neck, his breath visible in the cold air.

"'Arry," she attempted a smile, but it didn't reach her eyes. Her fingers tightened around her cup, knuckles whitening.

"You've been worried about something," he said, gently placing his hand over hers. "For the past week, you've barely eaten, you're distracted in classes, and you keep looking at the lake like it might jump out and bite you."

Fleur's laugh was hollow. "Per'aps it might as well." She set down her cup, her hands trembling slightly. "Ze water... it is not just ze cold zat bothers me."

Harry shifted closer, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. She leaned into him, seeking comfort in his warmth.

"What do you mean?"

"I am part Veela, mon coeur," she said, absently playing with a strand of her hair – a nervous habit he'd noticed she had. "We are creatures of air and fire. Water... especially large bodies of water like zis..." she gestured at the lake, "zey make us uncomfortable. It dampens our magic, makes us feel... vulnerable."

"But surely Dumbledore wouldn't—"

"And zen," she continued, her accent thickening with stress, "zere are ze merpeople."

Harry frowned, remembering the screeching from the golden egg. "What about them?"

"Zey 'ate Veelas," Fleur said simply. "It is an ancient feud. Something about a Veela queen who spurned a merking's advances centuries ago. Since zen, zey have been... 'ostile toward my kind."

Understanding dawned on Harry's face. "And they're going to be guarding whatever we need to retrieve."

"Oui." Fleur pulled her cloak tighter around herself. "Ze other champions, zey will only 'ave to worry about ze cold and ze time limit. But I..." she shuddered. "Ze merpeople will not make it easy for me."

"We should talk to Dumbledore," Harry said, standing up suddenly. His school robes swirled around him as he paced. "Or Madame Maxime. This isn't fair!"

"Non," Fleur caught his hand, pulling him back down. "We were warned before ze tournament began zat it would be dangerous. Zat we would face challenges zat tested our very nature." Her blue eyes met his green ones. "I signed up knowing zis."

"But this is different! It's like... like making me fight a dragon without my wand!"

"Which you nearly did anyway," Fleur pointed out with a slight smirk.

"That's not the point! Besides, that was just me being stupid."

"Only you would call summoning your broom to outfly a dragon 'stupid,'" Fleur rolled her eyes.

"But—"

"And," she managed a small, genuine smile, "I 'ave something zey did not count on."

"What's that?"

"You," she said simply, leaning forward to kiss his cheek. "My clever 'Arry, who created a breathing spell zat will work better zan any bubble-'ead charm."

Harry blushed, running a hand through his perpetually messy hair. "Still, there must be something we can do to help with the merpeople..."

"Per'aps," Fleur mused, her expression thoughtful. "Zough I doubt zey will appreciate any attempts to charm zem. Veela allure does not work on zem anyway."

"No," Harry agreed, then suddenly sat up straighter. "But what about music?"

"Music?"

"The egg's message was a song. Maybe they appreciate music? We could research merpeople culture, find out what kind of songs they like..."

Fleur's eyes lit up. "Zat... zat might actually work! And if nothing else, it gives me something to focus on besides my worry."

Harry grinned, pleased to see some of her usual spark returning. "We can start in the library after dinner. I bet Hermione would love to help research."

"My 'ero," Fleur laughed, finally relaxing against him. "Always trying to solve everyone's problems."

"Only yours," Harry said softly, then added with a smirk, "though if you're still worried, I suppose we could practice some more... underwater breathing exercises."

Fleur's answering smile was decidedly mischievous. "Oh? And would zese exercises require ze prefects' bathroom again?"

"Well," Harry's cheeks reddened even as he maintained an innocent expression, "it would be irresponsible not to practice in all possible conditions."

"Naturally," Fleur agreed, standing gracefully and pulling him up with her. "For ze tournament."

"Exactly. For the tournament."

Their laughter echoed across the grounds as they headed back to the castle, leaving behind an empty cup of chocolate and considerably lighter hearts, but Harry still felt worried for her.

Seeing Harry's tension about the upcoming task, Fleur decided to give him something else to think about. Soon, they reached the Viaduct Courtyard of Hogwarts. They were sitting in a quiet corner of the courtyard, protected from the February chill by several warming charms. Stone archways surrounded them, their gothic architecture dusted with a light coating of frost that sparkled in the afternoon sun.

"Oh, I almost forgot to tell you," Fleur said casually, adjusting her position on the stone bench they shared. Her blue Beauxbatons uniform rustled softly as she turned to face him. "Maman and Papa will be 'ere tomorrow for ze task."

Harry nodded absently, focused on the piece of parchment where he was reviewing their underwater breathing spell modifications. "That's nice—wait, what?" His head snapped up so fast his glasses went askew.

"Oui," Fleur continued, fighting to keep her expression neutral as she watched color drain from Harry's face. "And Gabrielle too. Zey are very excited to meet you."

Harry's quill slipped from his suddenly nerveless fingers, leaving an ink blot on his parchment. His complexion now matched the frost-covered stones behind him.

"Meet... me?" he squeaked, his voice jumping an octave.

Fleur bit her lip to suppress a laugh. Harry faced dragons with more composure than the prospect of meeting her parents.

"Of course," she said, smoothing her skirt with deliberate casualness. "Papa especially is very keen to meet ze young man I've written so much about."

If possible, Harry went even paler. "Your father?" He tugged at his collar as if it had suddenly tightened. "The French Minister of Magic wants to meet me?"

"Oui," Fleur said brightly, enjoying his discomfort perhaps a bit too much. "You know, ze one who 'as diplomatic immunity in most European countries?"

Harry slumped against the cold stone wall, looking like someone had just told him he had to face the Hungarian Horntail again – without his wand this time.

"Are... are you sure they want to meet me?" he asked weakly. "Maybe they're just being polite?"

Fleur finally let out the laugh she'd been holding back, the sound echoing off the courtyard walls. Several passing students turned to look, but a quick glare from her sent them hurrying along.

"Mon coeur," she said, reaching out to straighten his crooked glasses, "zey 'ave been asking to meet you since I first mentioned you in my letters."

"About that," Harry said, running a hand through his already messy hair, making it stand up even more. "Exactly how much have you told them about... us?"

Fleur's blue eyes sparkled with mischief. "Oh, just zat we've become... quite close." She shifted closer to him on the bench, watching his Adam's apple bob nervously. "Zat you've been 'elping me with my Patronus Charm, and I've been 'elping you with ze tournament..."

"That's all?" Harry asked hopefully.

"Well..." Fleur pretended to think, tapping one perfectly manicured finger against her chin. "I might 'ave mentioned 'ow brave you were with ze dragon. And 'ow kind you are. And 'ow your eyes remind me of ze emeralds in ze family vault at Gringotts..."

Harry groaned, sliding further down the wall. "I'm doomed."

"Oh, and Gabrielle," Fleur added, thoroughly enjoying herself now, "she is perhaps ze most excited of all."

Harry perked up slightly. "Your sister? The one you told me about?"

"Oui. She 'as quite ze collection of 'Arry Potter adventure books."

Harry's brief relief vanished. "What books?"

"Oh, you know," Fleur waved her hand airily, "ze ones about your amazing adventures. My favorite is ze one where you supposedly fought off a pack of werewolves while riding a 'ippogriff... when you were four."

"WHAT?" Harry bolted upright, nearly falling off the bench. "There are books about me? Making up stories about things I never did?"

"Oh yes," Fleur nodded solemnly, though her eyes were dancing with suppressed laughter. "Gabrielle's favorite is ze one where you tamed a dragon with just a chocolate frog and made it your pet. She will probably ask where you keep it."

Harry's mouth opened and closed several times, no sound coming out. He looked remarkably like the giant squid they'd seen breaching the lake's surface earlier that week.

"But... but that never happened! Any of it! I didn't even know I was a wizard until I was eleven!"

"Per'aps you should explain zat to Gabrielle," Fleur suggested innocently. "After she shows you 'er collection of 'Arry Potter trading cards. I believe she 'as them all except ze limited edition one where you're riding a unicorn into battle against a dark wizard."

Harry buried his face in his hands. "This can't be happening."

Fleur finally took pity on him, sliding closer and wrapping her arms around his shoulders. "Would it 'elp if I told you zat Papa's wand-dueling days are long behind 'im?"

Harry peeked through his fingers. "Not really, no."

"Or zat Maman thinks anyone who can 'elp their daughter cast a Patronus must be very special indeed?"

"Maybe a little," Harry admitted, lowering his hands. "But your sister..."

"Is eight years old and thinks you are ze most wonderful 'ero in ze world," Fleur finished. "Though per'aps not for ze reasons in zose silly books."

"Why then?"

Fleur's teasing smile softened into something more genuine. "Because 'er big sister wrote to tell 'er about ze real 'Arry Potter. Ze one who 'elps others even when 'e 'as his own problems. Ze one who treats everyone kindly, even 'ouse-elves. Ze one who makes 'er sister laugh and feel like more zan just a pretty face."

Harry's cheeks reddened, but he managed a small smile. "Really?"

"Oui," Fleur kissed his cheek. "Though I may 'ave left out some of ze more... interesting details about our study sessions in ze prefects' bathroom."

"Fleur!" Harry spluttered, his blush deepening.

"What?" she asked innocently. "I thought you might appreciate ze discretion, considering Papa knows sixteen different 'exes zat can't be traced by ze Ministry."

Harry's head thunked back against the wall. "You're enjoying this way too much."

"Per'aps a little," Fleur admitted, resting her head on his shoulder. "But only because you are adorable when you're flustered."

"I faced a dragon," Harry muttered. "I should be able to handle meeting your family."

"If it 'elps," Fleur offered, "ze dragon probably didn't 'ave a collection of fictional books about you either."

Harry's groan echoed through the courtyard, accompanied by Fleur's silvery laughter.

"At least tell me your father doesn't read those books too?"

"Non," Fleur assured him. "Just ze newspaper articles about you. Including ze ones by Rita Skeeter."

Harry's horrified expression set her off laughing again, and this time he couldn't help but join in.

"You're terrible," he said finally, but his arm around her waist belied his words.

"Oui," she agreed cheerfully. "But you like me anyway."

"Merlin help me, I do," Harry sighed, then straightened suddenly. "Wait, what should I wear? How do I address your father? Should I bring something? What's the proper protocol for meeting the French Minister of Magic who happens to be your girlfriend's father who probably knows sixteen ways to hex me into next week?"

Fleur patted his cheek affectionately. "Just be yourself, mon coeur. It worked on me, non?"

"Yeah, but you don't have diplomatic immunity in most European countries."

"True," Fleur conceded. "But I do know seventeen ways to 'ex someone, not sixteen."

"Not helping, Fleur!"

"So," Harry said after a moment, his mind clearly still racing, "when you say your father reads the newspaper articles... you don't mean those ones where Skeeter called me 'a mentally unstable attention-seeker with a penchant for dangerous women', right?"

Fleur's lips twitched. "Well..."

"Oh, brilliant," Harry muttered. "Just brilliant. The French Minister of Magic thinks I'm dating his daughter because I have a death wish."

"If it makes you feel better," Fleur offered, "Papa thought zose articles were, 'ow you say... 'ilarious? Especially ze part about you 'aving a 'arem of Veela at your beck and call."

Harry choked on air. "A what?"

"Oh, you didn't see zat one? It was right after ze first task. Something about you enchanting all ze Veela mascots from ze World Cup..."

"Kill me now," Harry groaned. "Just push me into the lake and let the giant squid end my suffering."

"Non," Fleur said firmly. "Ze giant squid would probably just give you a ride across ze lake. Even ze creatures 'ere seem to love you."

"Great, so the squid likes me. Think it would be willing to meet your parents instead?"

"I don't think ze squid can sing," Fleur mused thoughtfully.

Harry looked at her suspiciously. "What's that got to do with anything?"

"Oh, did I not mention?" Fleur's innocent expression wouldn't have fooled a first-year. "Maman loves music. She was quite impressed when I told 'er about your singing voice, especially when you sang 'My Love Tonight' in French."

"You told your mother I can sing?" Harry's voice cracked slightly. "Wait, the song I sang when you first talked with me was Rose of Versailes. When did you even hear me sing that song?"

"In ze prefects' bathroom," Fleur said sweetly. "You 'ave quite ze lovely voice when you think no one is listening."

Harry's face burned red. "That was private! And I was just trying to work out the egg's clue!"

"Oui, but you kept 'umming afterward. Something about a cauldron full of 'ot, strong love?"

"That was Celestina Warbeck! Mrs. Weasley always plays her songs and they get stuck in my head and—" Harry stopped abruptly. "Wait, how long were you watching me in the bathroom?"

"Long enough," Fleur winked. "Do not worry, I only told Maman about ze singing part."

"Somehow that's not as reassuring as you think it is," Harry muttered. "What else should I be worried about? Does your father expect me to recite French poetry? Demonstrate advanced dueling techniques? Prove my worthiness through ritual combat?"

"Non, zough ze ritual combat might be entertaining," Fleur giggled. "Just be yourself. Zey will love you."

"Right, because I'm such a catch," Harry said sarcastically. "A fourteen-year-old with perpetually messy hair, who talks to snakes, gets into life-threatening situations on a regular basis, and apparently can't even take a bath without being spied on."

Fleur cupped his face in her hands. "Non, because you are brave, and kind, and clever. Because you make me laugh and treat me like a person, not a prize. Because you are willing to do everything to make me smile."

"I didn't exactly—"

She silenced him with a kiss, soft and sweet. When she pulled back, his worried expression had been replaced by a slightly dazed one.

"Zey will see what I see," she said softly. "A young man worthy of their daughter's 'eart."

Harry blinked slowly, as if coming out of a trance. "That's cheating, you know. Using kisses to win arguments."

"Is it working?"

"Maybe," he admitted. Then his eyes widened in horror. "Wait, I can't kiss you to win arguments with your father!"

Fleur burst out laughing. "Non, I would not recommend zat strategy."

"This is serious, Fleur! What if I mess up? What if I use the wrong fork at dinner? Do French people even use forks? Should I learn to use chopsticks just in case?"

"We are French, mon coeur, not Chinese," Fleur said, still giggling. "And we will be in ze stands watching ze task, not 'aving a formal dinner."

"Oh. Right." Harry relaxed slightly, then tensed again. "The task! They're going to watch me swim! What if I mess up? What if the merpeople eat me? What if—"

"'Arry," Fleur interrupted, taking his hands in hers. "Just sing for zem."

"What?"

"Trust me," she smiled. "One song from you and Maman will be planning our wedding."

Harry's face went through several interesting color changes. "Our... wedding?"

"Oui. She already 'as some lovely ideas for ze flower arrangements..."

"WHAT?"

Fleur couldn't hold back her laughter at his panicked expression. "I am teasing you, mon coeur. Mostly."

"Mostly?" Harry's voice had gone squeaky again.

"Well, she did say something about 'ow lovely our children would look with my 'air and your eyes..."

Harry made a sound like a strangled Kneazle and slumped against her shoulder. "You're evil," he mumbled into her robes. "Pure evil."

"Oui," she agreed cheerfully, running her fingers through his messy hair. "But you still like me."

"Merlin knows why."

"Because I am beautiful, charming, and excellent at defensive magic?"

"Because you're you," Harry said softly, lifting his head to meet her eyes. "Even if you do spy on me in bathrooms and tell your mother about my singing."

Fleur's teasing smile softened into something warmer. "See? Zat right there? Zat is why zey will love you."

"My ability to make sappy declarations while having a nervous breakdown?"

"Your 'eart," she corrected, placing her hand over his chest. "It is what made me fall for you, after all."

Harry covered her hand with his. "Even though I'm probably going to embarrass myself completely in front of your family?"

"Especially zen," she assured him. "Now, shall we practice your underwater breathing spell again? Unless you would rather work on your Celestina Warbeck repertoire..."

Harry's groan was muffled as she pulled him in for another kiss, but she could feel his smile against her lips.

Tomorrow

The Fat Lady was just finishing her morning vocal exercises when Fleur approached the Gryffindor Tower entrance. "'Ello," she greeted politely. "Fairy lights."

The portrait swung open with a knowing smile. "Ah, young love. Do tell Mr. Potter to stop pacing up there – he's making everyone dizzy."

Fleur stepped through the portrait hole into the warm, circular common room decorated in rich reds and golds. The morning sunlight streamed through the tall windows, casting a cozy glow over the comfortable armchairs and worn sofas. Several students were scattered around, some preparing for morning classes, others just lounging about.

The reaction to her entrance was immediate and almost comical. A seventh-year boy walking down the stairs missed a step and had to grab the railing to keep from falling. Two third-years playing Exploding Snap let their cards detonate in their faces, too distracted to notice. And poor Neville Longbottom somehow managed to water his Mimbulus mimbletonia with pumpkin juice instead of water.

Hermione looked up from her Ancient Runes textbook, eyebrows raised. "How did you get in here?"

"'Arry gave me ze password," Fleur replied, carefully making her way around a group of fifth-year boys who seemed to have forgotten how their necks worked. "Though I think 'e was 'alf asleep when 'e did it."

"That explains it," Hermione said, closing her book. "He's been rather distracted lately. Speaking of which—" She cast a disapproving look at Ron, who was sitting beside her with his mouth hanging open, a bit of drool threatening to escape. "Ronald, close your mouth before you catch flies."

Ron's jaw snapped shut with an audible click, but his eyes remained fixed on Fleur's chest area. Hermione rolled her eyes and elbowed him sharply in the ribs.

"Ow! What was that for?"

"Her face is up there," Hermione said dryly, pointing to Fleur's head. "Though you might have noticed that if you weren't trying to bore holes through her sweater with your eyes."

Fleur gracefully settled into an armchair across from them, pretending not to notice as several nearby boys suddenly developed an intense interest in their homework. One was holding his Transfiguration textbook upside down.

"Is 'Arry ready?" she asked, smoothing her skirt. "We should leave soon."

"He's still upstairs," Hermione replied, then narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "He's been acting strange since yesterday evening. Changed his clothes three times at breakfast alone. Are you two going on another one of those 'study sessions' that somehow never involve any actual studying?"

"Non," Fleur's lips curved into an amused smile. "My parents are coming to watch ze second task."

The reaction was immediate. Ron choked on air, finally dragging his gaze away from Fleur's chest. "Bloody hell! No wonder he's been mental!"

"Language, Ronald," Hermione chided automatically, then turned to Fleur with wide eyes. "Your parents? As in, the French Minister of Magic and his wife?"

"And my little sister," Fleur added cheerfully. "She is very excited to meet 'er 'ero."

Right on cue, there was a commotion on the boys' staircase. "No, absolutely not, that tie makes me look like I'm trying too hard— Dean, put that hair gel away, I'm not using it— Seamus, stop laughing and help me find my other shoe!"

Harry's voice drifted down, followed by various thumps and the sound of drawers being opened and closed rapidly.

"'E 'as been like zis all morning?" Fleur asked, trying not to laugh.

"Worse," Hermione sighed. "He woke up at five to iron his clothes. I didn't even know he knew how to iron."

"Dobby helped!" came Harry's distant voice. "Has anyone seen my green jumper? The one without holes in it?"

"You mean the one you're wearing?" called Dean Thomas.

"Oh. Right. Thanks!"

More shuffling sounds ensued, accompanied by what sounded like several bottles being knocked over and a muffled curse.

"Should we tell him to relax?" Ron asked, finally managing to act somewhat normally around Fleur, though his ears were still rather red.

"Non," Fleur said, her eyes twinkling. "I think it is rather sweet."

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of crashed, bangs, and increasingly creative swearing, footsteps descended the spiral staircase. Harry emerged, looking remarkably put-together in dark jeans, a forest green jumper that brought out his eyes, and his school robes, which for once appeared to have actually seen an iron. His hair, while still characteristically messy, looked like it had at least been introduced to a comb.

He froze halfway down the stairs when he spotted Fleur, nearly causing Seamus to crash into him from behind.

"You're early!" he said, then cleared his throat and tried again in a more normal voice. "I mean, good morning."

Fleur rose gracefully from her chair, walking over to meet him at the bottom of the stairs. "'Ello, mon coeur," she said softly, reaching up to straighten his collar. "You look very 'andsome."

Harry's cheeks pinked. "Really? Because I can change if it's not formal enough. Or too formal. Or—"

"It is perfect," she assured him, smoothing down his robes. "Though per'aps we should do something about zis..." She reached up and deliberately mussed his carefully combed hair.

"Fleur!" he protested. "I spent twenty minutes on that!"

"Oui, and now it looks like you again," she said satisfied. "Much better."

From their seats by the fire, Ron and Hermione watched with varying degrees of amusement.

"Mate," Ron called out, "you do remember you're going to be underwater for most of this task, right? Not sure the outfit matters much to the merpeople."

"Shut up, Ron," Harry muttered, still blushing as Fleur continued to fuss with his appearance. "Your mum's not the French Minister of Magic."

"True," Ron conceded. "Dad just collects plugs and makes the toaster explode."

"Speaking of which," Hermione interjected, "Harry, did you remember to practice your new charm?"

"Of course I—" Harry patted his pockets frantically. "My wand! Where's my—"

"In your 'and, mon coeur," Fleur said gently, pointing to where he was, indeed, holding his wand.

"Oh. Right." Harry took a deep breath. "I'm acting mental, aren't I?"

"Just a bit," Hermione said kindly.

"Completely barking," Ron agreed, less kindly.

"You are nervous," Fleur corrected, taking his free hand. "It is normal."

"Yeah, but your parents are going to think I'm an idiot," Harry groaned. "I can't even keep track of my own wand when it's in my hand!"

"Zey will think you are charming," Fleur assured him. "And if not..." She leaned in close to whisper something in his ear that made his eyes go wide and his face turn scarlet.

"Fleur!" he spluttered.

"What?" she asked innocently. "I was just saying zat if things go badly, we can always elope to ze south of France. Papa knows a lovely little village where ze Ministry never looks..."

"That's not helping!"

"Non?" She pretended to consider. "Per'aps we should try Greece instead? I 'ear ze islands are beautiful zis time of year..."

Harry's response was cut off by the arrival of several more students coming down for breakfast. One of them, a third-year boy, walked straight into a wall while staring at Fleur.

"Perhaps we should go," Hermione suggested, watching as another boy nearly set his bag on fire with a misaimed warming charm. "Before someone seriously injures themselves."

"Oui," Fleur agreed, still holding Harry's hand. "Are you ready, mon coeur?"

"No," Harry said honestly. "But I suppose facing your parents can't be worse than facing that dragon, right?"

"Well," Fleur said thoughtfully, "Papa did once make an entire delegation from ze German Ministry cry during trade negotiations..."

"What?"

"I am teasing," she assured him, then paused. "Mostly. It was only 'alf ze delegation."

Harry looked like he might be sick. "Maybe the dragon wasn't so bad after all..."

"Come," Fleur tugged him toward the portrait hole. "If we are late, Gabrielle might start showing everyone 'er collection of 'Arry Potter trading cards."

"Oh God," Harry moaned. "The ones where I'm supposedly teaching a phoenix to dance?"

"Non, zose are quite rare. But she does 'ave ze one where you are riding a unicorn into battle."

"Kill me now."

"After ze task, mon coeur. It would be rude to stand up ze merpeople."

Their bickering faded as they climbed through the portrait hole, leaving behind a common room full of dazed boys and highly amused girls.

"Well," Hermione said, turning back to her Ancient Runes, "at least he remembered to wear matching socks this time."

"Did he though?" Ron asked, squinting at the portrait hole. "Because I'm pretty sure one of them was purple..."

If you want to Read Two More Chapter Right Now. Write 'Drinor Patreon' in Google and Click the First Link