Title: Whispered Endearments
Author: Goldy
Summary: They make such an excellent looking couple.
Warning: Starts with a Harry/Fleur pairing, but it does end H/Hr. I swear it.
A/N: Written for simonsays, who challenged me to write Harry/Fleur (any and all death threats can be directed at him). As a therapeutic measure, I wrote a sequel, which is the second (and much longer) chapter and is solely H/Hr. Promise.
They make an excellent looking couple.
The Daily Prophet certainly seems to think so. Witch Weekly agrees. The wizarding wireless chimes in as well. Fine looking couple. His dark hair, her fair looks.
The media works itself into a frenzy. It needs this, now that Voldemort has been vanquished. Three dark years of war. It's time to let loose. Time to gossip. Materialism is embraced. People need it. They no longer have to read about who's dead, who's missing, and who's been jailed.
There is no story bigger than Harry Potter, of course. And she is beautiful. Together… they make an excellent looking couple.
When people ask them why they're together, he shrugs a shoulder, flashing a small, embarrassed smile. She's much better at fielding the inquiries. She enjoys it. She tosses her hair, flashes her white teeth, and holds her head high as reporters salivate at her feet. That's how she is.
The truth is, he doesn't really understand it himself, only that it's happened and it seems quite impossible to break out of it now. The papers all say he should be happy. He's one lucky bloke. Anyone would die to have Fleur Delacour.
Good going, mate, Ron always says. 'Bout time you got a little action. Now… don't take this the wrong way… but after the Cho Debale… well, you know. No… no, nothing like that. It's just… I had a moment or two where I wondered…not that there's anything wrong with that, mind you, I certainly wouldn't have had a problem with it, no way, not me. It's just… good to see you with her. Jealous as all else, but you look happy.
Well, honestly, Harry… Hermione says, don't you think you could have found someone with a little more… I don't know… substance? Not that I'm not fond of Fleur, I just… she seems so… flighty? No-don't get upset, it's not that… I just… oh, as long as you're happy, I suppose. That's all that matters.
The thing is, he's not happy, not really. He doesn't like the flash of cameras in his face. He doesn't like being trailed by reporters when he goes off to dinner. He doesn't like that his entire "relationship" seems to be one big show for the media.
But here he is, Harry Potter with Fleur Delacour-the excellent looking couple of the wizarding world. Imagine their children! Heavens!
What Fleur Delacour wants, she gets. She got him, after Voldemort was defeated and he'd been feeling too much to feel anything at all. It was too much Firewhiskey and he was tired and here she was, this beautiful woman, who wanted him.
She was funny and she made him laugh and she brought out a sort of reckless abandonment in him. When he was with her, he didn't feel like the boy who held the weight of the world on his shoulders. He was just a boy, following his hormones.
They don't talk. Not about important things. Not about Voldemort or what it felt like facing him or the people he's lost. He doesn't tell her about the years he spent worrying over who he'd target next-if it'd be Ron or Hermione or Hagrid.
When he talks, it's to Ron and Hermione, whom he's always talked to. When he wants to remember who he really is and what home feels like, it's with them.
He knows that they can't last. It's not love. It's barely lust. It's escapism. It's abandonment. It's letting go like he never has before. It's enjoying his fame for the first time in his life.
Sometimes he wonders if he's lost himself when he's with her. Surely this isn't him. Not him, the boy who could barely ask Cho to go to Hogsmeade with him once upon a time. Not the boy who trod all over Parvati's feet at the Yule Ball. But here he is, Fleur on his arm, entering an expensive restaurant, and the cameras are flashing, and he's smiling and he's happy, they all say he is.
And then they stumble up to her room (it's always hers), hands fisting at shirts, ties, trousers, it doesn't matter. He can taste her lipstick and she always smells like daffodils. They barely talk and he finds himself wondering if this is what it's like for everyone. If there can ever be whispers of endearments.
The sex is good, and he's very happy, that's what they all say, and the papers love them together, and the wizarding world loves it even more, the shining beacon of hope they represent. So it doesn't much matter if it doesn't feel real and so what if it all feels like a dream? He'll get over it soon.
They make such an excellent looking couple.