He was a prince and she was a princess.
Harry Potter was the only child of James Potter, Lord of the Scarlet Manor, CEO of Potter International, and Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. His mother was the muggleborn who had become Lady Potter, and one of the premiere independent Charms mistresses in western Europe. It was long assumed she would be the natural successor to Flitwick in Hogwarts.
He was the young man; boy still technically, who was never satisfied. Trained by his father and godfather, he had torn up the underage dueling circuits before announcing he wouldn’t compete his sixteen year because there was nothing left to accomplish until he was of age. Public media had clammered for an exception to be made, but the rules stood. Adult circuits were only for those seventeen and older.
Tutored by his mother and favored by half the staff at Hogwarts, he ruined the grading curve for his entire year. Where other witches and wizards forwent most physical exercise for the convenience of magic, he kept to a strict regime in order to stay in shape. As a result, he stood out in a crowd, taller and broader than most, with the ability to win a fistfight against anybody other than Hagrid. An absolute menace of a Seeker.
Daphne Greengrass was the eldest daughter of Cyrus Greengrass, the Fifteen Lord of Albion’s Fall, one of the richest men in magical Britain, and a duly elected member of the Wizengamot. Her mother was Cylenthene Greengrass, an accomplished lawyer for fifteen years before retiring.
She was the young woman; girl still technically, who was always annoyed to be behind him. She could never manage to outscore him in anything other than the odd exam, and was never interested enough in dueling to even try meeting him in the circuit. She wanted to stand out in her own right, but was always a light year behind him it seemed and fighting for second place with Granger, a muggleborn with ambitions as high as she.
Daphne wanted to be a diplomat, both for the work, and to live in other cultures around the world. She was still young, but able to command a room (if Harry wasn’t in it) and an outgoing personality. That didn’t mean she liked everybody, far from it, but was more than willing to insert herself into any situation.
They met for the first time in the Slytherin common room. He sat down next to her one day to do work, and eventually they started talking. At first, it was just about the schoolwork. “Do you remember where the stress goes in the incantation?” “Is the newtwart stirred counterclockwise five times or six?” “History of Magic is boring.” Basic stuff.
After several months, the talk became a little more personal. “How was your day?” “I can’t wait to go out for a snowball fight later.” “Malfoy is boring.” Fairly common courtesies.
One day Harry dropped by in the middle of girl talk with her bastard sister Tracey. Tracey was in the middle of ranting about how Quidditch guys always have a certain stink when they come back from practice while the girls are able to figure out their hygiene. She stopped as Harry sat down. “He’s fine,” Daphne said.
“But-” Tracey started.
“He’s fine,” Daphne repeated.
Tracey shrugged and continued her rant.
Second year, when her sister Astoria was diagnosed with a wasting disease that could be contained by not cured, it was Harry who first put an arm around her shoulders.
Third year, when a failed assassination attempt blew off his father’s right hand, it was Daphne who talked with him long into the night.
Fourth year, Daphne realized she wanted Harry to kiss her. But that was when the she-bitch arrived. A whore undoubtedly, carrying who knows what from her many conquests. But she knew Harry would never listen to her sound logic.
She was a princess and he was a prince.
Fleur Delacour was a veela, possessing grace and beauty unattainable by any mere man or woman. Her allure could reduce a man to a stuttering mess in a matter of moments, and erase his upper brain functions within minutes. Her father was Sebastain Delacour, vice president of the Fourth Magical French Republic. Her mother was also a veela, from a cadet branch of the powerful Dalla Torre Italian Veela line and a poet.
She faced constant rebuke and ridicule throughout her life for being a veela. When men and boys realized they could not have her, their admiration turned to scorn and petty jealousy. Women and girls hated her for being born what they could not. So she worked her entire life to shut the abuse up. Being declared Triwizard Champion would be a good step.
They met the Yule before the Tournament. His father and family were invited to the grand ball thrown every year by the french government, with dignitaries from allied states around the globe. He stood out in the crowd as a man on the assent. Several people avoided him if possible, all victims in the dueling circuit. His attitude was that of somebody who was used to getting what he wanted but wasn’t used to other people getting it for him. His size and strength commanded a presence among men and women used to waving their wand, not lifting weights.
At some point, it was as if the sea of humanity in the National Ballroom parted and they locked eyes. “Ahh, Monsieur Potter,” her father said. “I will hope you remember me from the conference last month.”
“Of course, Mr. Vice President,” James Potter answered.
“I’m afraid I don’t know where my wife is. But I can introduce you to my oldest, Fleur.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Lord Potter,” Fleur said with a curtsey.
“Charming,” James Potter said. “Let me introduce my own eldest, Harry.”
Harry stepped forwards, not that Fleur hadn’t been watching him throughout the entire exchange. She was tall, but he had several inches on her, with green eyes that seemed to glow and the grace of a dueler. She held out her hand and he bowed to kiss it politely. “A pleasure,” she repeated.
He gave a cocky half smile. “I assure you, that pleasure is mine mademoiselle,” he said. It wasn’t hard for Fleur to spot Harry in the crowd when the Beauxbatons carriage landed at Hogwarts.
Fleur rarely found herself seeking the company of males, but with half her friends back in France, her friend group at Hogwarts ended up merging with Harry’s trio at some point, despite the three year age gap. Her talkative friend Camille found a kindred spirit in Daphne’s bastard half-sister and Fleur found herself drawn to Harry. It was a rare man who would be willing to sit down and discuss charms theory with her, or discuss the Geneva Air Races without expecting a date. For some reason, men always seemed to expect that a conversation with her was permission to try for a kiss. A low bar, but one precious few were able to clear.
The difference with Harry, he was just as unattainable as she was. Oh sure, Greengrass had the best shot by far even if she didn’t realize it, but by Fleur’s logic she was still a league below him. Sitting around a campfire on the shore of the Black Lake one unusually warm evening the first week of October, watching Daphne rest a shoulder on Harry’s head with a soft smile on her face, Fleur resolved to stay out of their way. She was the newcomer, and Harry was perfectly free to settle for a witch who could not possibly become as great as he was if that made him happy. She kept that resolve until the Yule Ball was announced.
“That is sooooo not true,” Tracey was saying, chattering about something as always. Fleur had lost track of what she and Camille were talking about. “Davis is alright, but Blaise has that dark look.”
“Blaise is still a boy,” Camille said. “You’d understand if you were older.”
“Please girl, you don’t know Roger if you think he’s any less of a boy.”
Harry and Daphne sat down at their table in the library. “So Harry,” Fleur teased. “How many young maidens have begged for your company at the ball already?”
“None. I think you four scared them all off,” Harry said easily.
“You need a guy friend. At this point your dick is likely to fall off and be replaced by a vagina,” Daphne quipped.
“What can I say?” Harry spread his hands. “I allow only the most worthy.”
“Oh your Holiness Potter,” Tracey said sarcastically. “Thank you for allowing us to bask in your presence.” She pointed a finger at him. “You would be sad and lonely without us. Admit it.”
Harry smiled. “I would be sad and lonely without you all.”
“Good boy.” Tracey turned back to Camille. “You gotta pop their egos sometimes. It’s for their own good really.”
“Of course.”
“What of you Fleur?” Harry asked. “Any fair knights beg for your favor at the ball?”
She wrinkled her nose in distaste. “If only I was so lucky.”
At that, Daphne wrapped her arms around one of Harry’s and rested her head on his shoulder. Fleur got the hint. This knight was taken.
But that didn’t stop Fleur from thinking of her options. As a veela, and Triwizard competitor, she’d have her pick of the single boys in the castle. None of them were appealing, except one. Only thing was, Harry wasn’t single. Not really.
When the day of the ball arrived, Harry looked quite regal in his dress robes of crimson and black. Daphne matched him well in a flowing gown of matching crimson with a slit cut into the side.
Fleur had arrived with Roger Davis in tow, the boy Tracey and Camille had been discussing that day in the library. There was nothing particularly special about him, she just needed somebody. Balls and dances were fine socializing events, as long as she was not required to actually dance. It was horribly awkward. She wasn’t one to accuse, but Daphne looked a little smug when they made eye contact. She had Harry’s arm around her waist, while Fleur had to endure Roger’s constant poems about flowers and beauty. Piss poor quality poems too. Fleur’s mother was an expert, Fleur knew about quality poetry. She tried to ditch him after the first couple dances, but he followed her around like a lost puppy. Luckily, it didn’t take Camille long to come to her aid.
“Fleur, I just have to talk to you about something right now,” her friend said.
Fleur turned to Roger. “I’m sorry,” she said with as much fake regret as she could muster. “Wait here, I will find you later.” She turned and walked away without waiting for a reply. Maybe it was mean to lie to him like that.
Camille led Fleur over to Harry and Daphne. “My date is waiting, see you all later!” Before Fleur could protest, Camille had left her in potentially a very awkward situation.
“You look stunning.” Daphne was kinder to her now that she had won a race Fleur had vowed not to start. Fleur did look stunning, with her hair half done up, half cascading over one shoulder and a white and silver gown. It was strapless, and elegant silver gloves covered her hands.
“Truly, mortals were not meant for this sight,” Harry said. “They have the garden outside warmed, and this is getting stuffy. Want a walk?” Both girls agreed.
Daphne was on Harry’s right side, so Fleur fell into line on his left. To her shock, his free arm wrapped around her waist as they were walking out. Unsure of what it meant, Fleur stayed silent but Daphne was not so quiet.
“Harry, what are you doing?” she hissed.
“What do you mean? It’s just Fleur.”
That took something out of Fleur. She was not used to being just Fleur. She was Fleur Delacour, veela and Triwizard champion for Beauxbatons.
When they found a bench to sit down, Harry’s arm didn’t move. Daphne snuggled against his side but Fleur stayed stiffly upright, unsure of what to do, avoiding Daphne’s glare.
It’s him! She wanted to scream. I didn’t ask for this!
“Shoot, we should have grabbed drinks,” Harry said, standing up. His arm finally fell away. “I’ll be right back.”
“I’ll go with you,” Daphne said. All of her friendliness from earlier in the evening was gone. Fleur was left alone outside, wondering what in Morgana’s name had just happened.
After a few minutes, Harry came back holding a glass of champagne in each hand. “Where’s Daphne?”
“Oh, she got distracted talking to Tracey for a minute,” Harry said, handing her a glass and sitting down. His arm went back around her waist.
“Harry, what are you doing?”
“They say this place is covered in warming charms, but it still feels chilly to me,” he said. “Besides, I saw how your date acted and didn’t want you to feel left out.”
“Harry, those are stupid reasons to have your arm around my waist while you are at a dance with Daphne,” Fleur said, starting to get angry. Some portion in the back of her mind asked why she hadn’t moved his arm. “Have you forgotten about her?”
“Oh Daphne isn’t going anywhere,” Harry said with a soft smile. “My Daphne.”
“Then what are you doing?” Fleur demanded again.
Harry looked at her for a moment, cocked his head slightly, and then kissed her.
Fleur, to her shame, for just a moment closed her eyes and reciprocated, sliding closer to his body. But then reality reentered her brain and she pushed him back.
He said nothing and neither did she, unable to believe the audacity of this boy. He wanted both of them!
She abruptly stood up. “I never want to see you again!” she screamed, before walking away as fast as her high heels would allow.
Her resolve lasted four days. It was tearing Camille up to see her friends estranged, and Fleur refused to talk about why she wouldn’t see Harry any more. Besides, life was so unbelievably dull without Harry around and Camille spending half her time with the group. There was nobody to talk to.
Four days after the Yule Ball, she found him alone in the library. He looked up at her, smiled like he always did at Daphne, and patted the seat next to him. She shook her head, wrapping her arms around herself. Harry patted the seat again and she cracked. When she sat down, he pulled her close and kissed the top of her head, and the waterworks began.
Harry didn’t say a word, simply holding her as sobs wracked her body. He didn’t push her, sitting in silence for several minutes. “I thought you were different,” Fleur finally said, tears still streaming down. She made no effort to push Harry away.
“I am different,” he promised. “I want every part of you, including the parts they don’t bother to see. I want the part of you that hexed your baby sister for taking up your mother’s attention, and the part that cut off half your own hair because you couldn’t wait for your hair appointment. None of them even know that you exists.”
The tears didn’t stop. It was true. He was saying what she had dreamed of somebody someday saying to her, only it was coming from a wizard who was already with another witch and wasn’t going to leave her. “You can’t do this to Daphne.”
He gently wiped her tears away. “Don’t worry about Daphne.”
“Why don’t you?” she accused.
“I always worry about Daphne,” he said. “But she’s mine to worry about. You just worry about yourself.”
Fleur shook her head. “I can’t do this.” Sobs wracked her once more. “I can’t do this, I can’t do this.”
Harry pulled her onto his lap and cradled her. He held her, saying nothing as she repeated “I can’t do this” until she was emotionally drained. Afterwards, he picked her up and set her gently on the ground, his damn arm wrapping around her waist again.
She had to lean against him as he walked her back to the Beauxbatons carriage, uncaring of who saw them. He opened the door for her, kissed her softly on the forehead, wiped a tear track away, and left. Fleur was left an emotional wreck.
An hour later, Daphne found him and slapped him across the face. He could have grabbed her wrist before she ever got the chance, but he let it happen. Now it was Daphne crying. “You lied to me,” she said. He tried to wrap his arms around her but she pushed him away. “You said you loved me.”
“I do.”
“People saw you with Fleur,” she said. Morgana, she hated crying. It ruined her entire complexion.
“I know.”
“Do you love her?” Daphne accused.
“No.”
“Could you?” her voice quavered.
“Yes.”
Daphne regained some of her fight. “Because she’s a Morgana-damned veela,” she spat.
“No,” Harry refuted calmly. “Because she’s Fleur.”
Of any answer he could have given, that one hurt the most. “I can’t do this,” Daphne said. “If you love me, you’ll never see her again.”
Harry pulled her close, and this time she didn’t resist. “Oh Daphne.” She sobbed in relief. “I can’t do that.”
Daphne’s short lived relief turned back into despair and anger. She shoved him away again and punched his chest as hard as she could. He didn’t so much as flinch. “I hope you fucking die,” she seethed.
The next day was the first since the first week of school that she never talked to Harry while at Hogwarts. A streak that had lasted over three entire school years was broken one bright, crisp December day less than a week before Christmas. She couldn’t stand it.
But she couldn’t stand the sight of Harry either, so after only two days her feet started dragging her towards the Beauxbatons carriage. She knocked before she could stop herself.
Some French girl she didn’t know opened the door. “Where is Fleur?” she asked dully.
The French girl pointed down a hallway to the right. “In Room Seven. Being useless.”
Inside the carriage was a whole building, complete with a large lounge in the reception area, what appeared to be a kitchen to the left, and two dorm wings to the right and straight on. Upon finding Room Seven, she knocked. Fleur didn’t answer, so she knocked again.
When Fleur still didn’t answer, she pounded on the door as hard as she could. Fleur finally swung the door open. “It’s you.”
Daphne didn’t know what to say, so she said nothing. Fleur took in her red eyes, so similar to her own. She motioned for Daphne to come inside, closing the door behind her.
Daphne sat down on the bed. “Harry’s an asshole.”
Fleur sat next to her. “Yes.”
“But we’re miserable without him.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Fleur laughed bitterly. “He’s Harry Potter. There is nobody else like him.”
“But apparently we each have replacements.”
Fleur shook her head. Even uncombed, her silver hair was gorgeous. “No, I don’t think so. I think he’s sincere, damn him.”
“Maybe no one witch alone is enough for Harry bloody Potter,” Daphne said.
“If he thinks that, he’s an idiot. Besides, he hasn’t even come to see me here.”
Now it was Daphne’s turn to give a harsh chuckle. “Because he knows we’ll come back.”
“We are?”
“It’s like you said. He’s Harry bloody Potter. There’s nobody else.”
Fleur wrapped her arms around Daphne who gladly reciprocated the hug. “You’re not too bad, for a veela.”
Fleur almost smiled. “I swore never to steal another witch’s wizard.”
“Don’t. None of this is your fault.”
“We’re going to make him pay,” Fleur promised.
Daphne shook her head. “Somehow, he’ll get away with it. He always gets away with it.”
The next morning, the tabloids were given enough material to stay in business for a year. Harry Potter walked into the Great Hall for breakfast, one arm possessively around Daphne, the other holding Fleur.
Tracey and Camille were none too pleased. “This is why they’ve both been miserable these past few days,” Tracey said after the two dragged Harry out of the Hall “for a talk.”
“Yes.” Harry saw no point in lying.
Camille stuck her finger in his face. “You forced them into this.”
“No.”
“No?”
“Yes.”
“Yes you did force them into this, or yes you didn’t force them into a threesome relationship?” Camille asked.
“Yes I forced them into nothing. You know I would never do that,” Harry answered.
“I thought I did,” Tracey said, unappeased.
“Talk to them,” Harry said. “They came to me yesterday, of their own accord. We talked for a long time. No, I did not order them to have a threesome,” he said, cutting off Camille as she opened her mouth.
“What do you want out of this?” Tracey asked. “Answer truthfully.”
“Daphne is the oldest friend I have here in Hogwarts,” Harry said. “If I have anything I need to say, or talk about, I go to her. No offense Tracey.”
“I’ll find a way to survive.”
“Fleur’s opinion of most men ranges from mild dislike to mild hatred. I don’t want to see her alone and I hate the idea of somebody as special as her settling. So what do I want? I want both of my girls close to me as much as possible. I want to wipe away their tears when they cry, and Merlin knows I’ve caused too much of that recently. I want to hear about their day each evening and tell them about mine. I want to hold them when they’re cold, and heal their scrapes when they trip. What do I want? I want to make them happy.”
“Damn you Harry,” Camille said when he was finished.
Tracey looked on the verge of tears herself now. “You devote your entire life to them. I don’t care if you’re only fourteen, you make that promise now.”
Harry smiled. “Would you like an unbreakable vow?”
Tracey considered it for a moment before shaking her head. “Let’s not do that. But I’m going to check in with Daphne every day to make sure she’s happy.”
“And I will with Fleur too,” Camille seconded.
“Please do.” Harry stood to leave. Daphne and Fleur were waiting for him.
A month later, Harry was holding his witches close, looking out the window of the Slytherin Common Room into the depths of the Black Lake. Technically, Fleur wasn’t allowed but nobody was telling Harry Potter no.
Daphne kissed his jaw. “What are you thinking about?”
Harry looked down. “Someday,” he vowed. “I’m going to make you both empresses.”
Author’s Note
I said it at the beginning, Harry is never satisfied. I was going to add a third girl in there, but then I realized I’d basically just be repeating the plot of the second half again, so I decided not to.
Tell me, how do you feel about the transition from perfect prince Harry, to he’s a manipulative asshole, to well at least he cares. I know it’s short, but I didn’t want to add unnecessary detail. And if you say “They should never have taken him back,” you’re absolutely correct. In the real world, if your boyfriend tries to manipulate you into a threesome, just run away from the relationship.
Also, sorry I’m not very good at developing relationships. I tend to skip from the first meeting to the ‘the like each other’ part. I’m just not very good at the inbetween stuff.