Chapter Text
In one of the rooms in Beauxbaton's carriage to Hogwarts, Marie Allaire stared at the seventeen-year-old Fleur Delacour sitting across from her. Though she wasn't the only one there as Harry Potter's head was resting comfortably in Fleur's lap, his eyes closed peacefully as her fingers absently combed through his perpetually messy black hair. The fourteen-year-old boy seemed completely at ease, as if this position was the most natural thing in the world.
"Harry, are you comfortable?" Fleur asked softly.
"Mmm, perfect," Harry mumbled without opening his eyes. "Your lap is the best pillow in all of France and now England."
Marie rolled her eyes so hard she worried they might get stuck. This was hardly a new scene. In fact, it was just the latest in an endless parade of romantic moments that were not romantic that made her want to bang her head against the nearest wall.
Her mind drifted back to her first year, back when Harry was just eight years old and Fleur and Marie were eleven. Fleur had invited Marie back to her home for the winter holidays, and they had been playing in the Delacour garden when Harry fell and scraped his knee pretty badly. Most boys his age would have tried not to cry in front of girls, but Harry had no such reservations with Fleur.
"It hurts, Fleur!" he had wailed, and Fleur had immediately dropped to her knees beside him.
"Do not worry, my Harry," she had said, kissing his forehead with complete innocence. "I will always take care of you."
Marie remembered turning and seeing Fleur's father watching from the window, how his eyebrows raised so high they threatened to disappear into his hairline. She hadn't understood his expression then, but perhaps had she done so, she would have never returned.
Another memory surfaced, Fleur at fifteen, Harry at twelve, during, once again, winter holidays at the Delacour home. Fleur had invited Marie over for Christmas dinner.
"The sauce needs more salt," Fleur had declared, standing at the stove in the Delacour kitchen, a blue apron tied around her waist.
Harry, wearing a matching green apron, had immediately reached for the salt without being asked and handed it off to her.
They had moved around each other in perfect harmony, Fleur chopping vegetables while Harry stirred the pot, occasionally feeding each other tastes from wooden spoons. They'd developed their own cooking language, a system of nods, half-finished sentences, and knowing looks. Even the house elves that worked for the family had expressed admiration for how well they worked together.
"Can I help with anything?" Marie had asked.
"Oh!" Fleur had exclaimed, looking genuinely surprised. "I forgot you were there, Marie."
"We've got it handled," Harry had added with a smile. "We always cook together this time of year."
"He knows exactly how I like everything," Fleur had said proudly, ruffling Harry's hair.
"And she always knows what I'm thinking before I say it," Harry had responded, ducking under Fleur's arm to check the oven.
Marie had watched as they'd moved in their domestic dance, Harry handing Fleur ingredients she did not ask for but needed, Fleur absently wiping a smudge of flour from Harry's cheek. They'd looked like a married couple of fifty years, completely in sync, yet, when she tried to point that out to them later, they were completely oblivious to how couple-like they appeared.
"Marie, anyone could do what we do if they worked in the kitchen together for as long as we have," Fleur had told her.
"Yeah," Harry had said with a nod. "There is nothing odd about this."
Marie jolted back to the present and saw that Harry hadn't budged from Fleur's lap.
"Remember when you two went to the Grand Ball last year?" Marie asked, unable to contain herself.
Fleur smiled down at Harry. "Yes. We always have such fun together, don't we, Harry?"
Harry nodded without opening his eyes, a content smile on his face. "Best night of the year, every year."
“Ever since my first year,” Fleur said cheerfully.
Marie shook her head in disbelief at the memory of eleven-year-old Fleur escorting eight-year-old Harry into the Grand Ball. "I still don't understand how they let you attend when you weren't even a student yet."
"Madame Maxime has a soft spot for me," Harry replied with a cheeky grin, finally opening his eyes to look at Marie. "Besides, who else would Fleur go with?"
"Literally anyone?" Marie suggested, remembering how the entire male population of Beauxbatons practically lines up outside Fleur's dormitory with invitations every single year since she started school. "You've been going together since Fleur was a first year."
Fleur fondly ran her fingers through Harry's hair. "It was his first Grand Ball. He was so nervous, his little dress robes were too big."
"Sirius thought I'd grow into them," Harry replied, laughing at the memory.
Marie rolled her eyes. "And yet somehow you two always manage to have perfectly coordinated outfits every single year."
"Sirius insists," Harry explained with a shrug. "He says that if we're going together, we might as well look like we belong together."
"We do belong together," Fleur said simply, as if stating the most obvious fact in the world. "We are best friends."
Marie's eye twitched. "Right. Best friends who've never gone to the Grand Ball with anyone else. Best friends who've never dated anyone at all."
"Why would I need to date anyone?" Harry asked, genuinely confused. "I already have Fleur."
"And I have Harry," Fleur agreed, nodding firmly. "Dating seems so..." she waved a hand, looking for the right word. "Unnecessary."
Marie stared at them both, dumbfounded. "You two really don't see it, do you?"
"See what?" they both simultaneously asked, expressions of innocent confusion on their faces.
"Never mind," Marie sighed, watching as Fleur tenderly brushed a strand of hair from Harry's forehead, her fingers lingering on his scar. Harry's hand reached up to clasp hers briefly before returning to rest on his stomach. There was such natural affection between them, so comfortable and familiar. Yet neither seemed to recognise it as anything beyond friendship.
"I still remember our first dance at Beauxbatons," Fleur said softly. "You were so short."
"And now I'm almost as tall as you," Harry replied with pride.
"Almost," Fleur teased, tapping his nose playfully. "But still my little Harry."
Marie watched this exchange with growing exasperation. How could two people be so completely blind to what was right in front of them? It wasn't even subtle; they were practically a couple in everything but name. If you looked at them, you would think they had been happily married for years.
"I am nervous about Hogwarts," Fleur admitted quietly. "But I am glad you are with me, Harry."
"I wouldn't let you face the Triwizard Tournament alone," Harry replied firmly. "We're a team, always have been."
Marie slumped back in her seat, defeated. How many times had she witnessed these moments? How many times had she tried to hint, suggest, or outright tell them what was obvious to everyone else?
"You two are ridiculous," she muttered under her breath.
"What was that?" Harry asked.
"Nothing," Marie said, turning to look out the window at the clouds surrounding them. "Just thinking about how interesting this year at Hogwarts is going to be."
Marie watched the clouds drift past as her mind wandered back to all the failed attempts over the years to make these two see what was right in front of them, or even consider anyone else at all.
There was the time when they were thirteen and sixteen, studying in the Beauxbatons library. Marie had casually mentioned how Jean-Paul, the handsome seventh year, couldn't take his eyes off Fleur during Charms.
"He's going to ask you to the Spring Festival," Marie had said pointedly. "Everyone's talking about it."
Fleur had merely shrugged, not even looking up from her textbook. "I am going with Harry, of course."
"But don't you want to, I don't know, explore other options?" Marie had pressed. "Date someone?"
Harry and Fleur had exchanged puzzled looks.
"Why would I need other options?" Fleur had asked, genuinely confused.
"Yeah," Harry had agreed. "We have always been together. Why change that?"
Then there was last summer at the Delacour estate, when Marie had orchestrated what she thought was a foolproof plan. She'd convinced Fleur to wear her new swimsuit, a stunning blue two-piece that matched her eyes and fit her figure perfectly. Surely, Marie had thought, Harry would notice Fleur as more than just a friend; he's a boy with a pulse, and she is literally a Veela.
"How do I look, Harry?" Fleur had asked, twirling around in front of him.
Harry had glanced up from where he was doing stretches, smiled, and said, "You look nice. That colour suits you," before returning to what he was doing.
No lingering gaze. No blush. Nothing.
Marie had wanted to scream.
Or the Valentine's Day fiasco last February. Marie had slipped anonymous love notes into both their bags, each supposedly from the other. She'd been so certain it would work.
"Look at this strange note I received," Fleur had said during lunch, showing it to Harry with a perplexed expression.
Harry had pulled out his identical note. "I got one too! Someone's playing a prank."
They had laughed it off, completely missing the point, then spent the rest of Valentine's Day helping each other with homework and sharing chocolates that other students had sent to both of them because, of course, other students keep sending them both chocolates.
Marie sighed heavily, drawing a curious glance from Harry.
"Are you feeling sick?" he asked with genuine concern.
"No," Marie replied flatly. "Just... thinking."
"About what?" Fleur inquired.
"About how you two have never dated anyone," Marie said bluntly. "Don't you find that strange? Finding a date wouldn't be hard for either one of you; both of you are popular enough to easily find a date, and Fleur is..." she gestured vaguely at the beautiful Veela sitting across from her.
"Why would we date anyone?" Harry asked.
"Because that's what normal teenagers do!" Marie exclaimed, throwing her hands up in frustration. "They have crushes, they go on dates, they have first kisses!"
"That sounds complicated," Harry said simply. "Besides, I'm busy enough with school and spending time with Fleur."
"And I have my studies and Harry," Fleur added, as if this explained everything. "Dating seems like a waste of time."
Marie's eye twitched again. "Don't you want to fall in love someday?"
Fleur smiled down at Harry, who had closed his eyes again, looking perfectly content. "I already have everyone I need in my life."
"Same," Harry murmured sleepily.
Marie slumped further in her seat. Nothing worked. Nothing ever worked. It was as if their brains were wired differently, immune to the idea of a romance between Fleur Delacour and Harry Potter. Or really any romance at all between either one of them and anyone else.
'But, at the same time, they are completely devoted to each other, fiercely protective, and seemingly unable to function properly when separated. How is this even possible?'
"We're starting our descent," Madame Maxime announced, her voice echoing over the entire carriage via the magic intercom system. "Prepare yourselves for our arrival at Hogwarts and remember, you represent our school."
Harry sat up, immediately taking Fleur's hand in his. "Nervous?" he asked gently.
"A little," she admitted. "But you are here with me."
"Always," he promised, squeezing her hand.
Marie watched this exchange with a mixture of frustration and resignation. Maybe this year at Hogwarts would be different. Maybe being in a new environment would finally make them see what everyone else had been seeing for years.
'Or maybe,' Marie thought grimly, 'I will finally lose what remains of my sanity.'