Fleur after the Second Task

Hey guys. I know I've posted Fleur artwork a bunch, but I needed to write this short scene, sorry. And everyone loves Fleur, right?! This is a companion image and scene to a previous 'Fleur before second task' post from months ago as linked below. 

https://www.patreon.com/posts/fleur-at-second-80120306 

Hope you like it. Next art will almost certainly be image/scene with Susan. Next chapter on Friday, as always (I hope, I haven't finished it yet, uh-oh!) 

___


“Is he okay?” Dean pushed past Seamus as the boys trundled into the shelter of the tent Madam Pomfrey had set up at the end of the wooden pier that stretched into the lake. 

“He’s not taking visitors.” Madam Pomfrey said sternly.

“Oh, come on, Madam, finest matron, healer of the soul.” Seamus begged. “You gotta let us see him.” 

“We just want to make sure he’s not slipped off the mortal coil.” Ron agreed. “He saved me, I gotta say thanks.” 

“We are very worried.” Neville said quietly. 

Pomfrey sighed, drawing back the curtain — it screeched against the metal rail. “Go.” 

“Yes!” They cheered. Inside, Harry lay back on the bed. Despite their cheerful camaraderie, Dean felt a twist in his stomach at the sight of their friend. Harry was battered and bruised, skin blue and pale.

“Oh, fuck.” Seamus grimaced.

“Stupid tournament.” Ron muttered.

“He’ll be fine.” Pomfrey tutted as she traced her wand over him. “Harry has made it through far worse than this. Just surface damage.” 

Ron let out an odd gurgling noise from his throat. “B-but why is he not waking up?” 

“Just a precaution.” Pomfrey assured them. “With that type of head wound, we keep the patient unconscious while our healing magic does its work. Powerful wizards have auras that may unintentionally disrupt the healing, if they’re awake.”

“You’re sure?” Neville bit his lip.

“I’m sure.” Pomfrey said firmly. “Run along now.” She ushered them out.

“Harry has got the worst luck in the world.” Neville sniffed.

They all murmured agreement.

For a moment, the group of boys were somber. But then, like an angel inversed, a beauty rose from the water rather than descending from the skies. Fleur Delacour pulled herself from the lake and onto the pier, swishing her head left and right to cast off the water.

The boys were splattered with water. None of them even noticed as they drank in Fleur, droplets of water dripping down soft creamy skin, acres of it. Her swimsuit had darkened with water, her silvery-blonde hair soaked into tight clumps. But she was glorious, drying herself with a white towel, turning and patting herself dry without shame or shyness.

The small white towel did nothing to dry her skin, but Fleur seemed satisfied.

The four boys stared at her bountiful ass, sucking up the blue swimsuit between thick cheeks, buttocks that jiggled and then returned to perfect tautness. The perfect ass.

Fleur glanced over her shoulder at them with a supreme lack of concern. “Where is ‘Arry?” 

“Huh?” Dean said intelligently.

“’Arry. ‘Arry Potter.”

“He’s behind the curtain. Unconscious.” Seamus swallowed. It was hard to wrench his neck to meet her eyes, but not that hard to leave it — she was unimaginably beautiful, eyes bluer than the lake, cheeks tinged rosy with exertion, lips pouting and almost demanding a kiss…

“Merci.” She smiled. “I must reward my ‘ero, non?” 

Fleur tugged the curtain open and without turning, tugged it closed. The last thing they saw was Fleur absentmindedly fishing her swimsuit from her asscrack as it threatened to disappear. 

“No fucking way.” Dean muttered.

Seamus looked to the heavens. “Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ.”

Neville looked at him oddly. “Are you relig—?” 

“No,” Seamus clapped his hands together. “But we must be grateful all the same.” 

They stood in silence for a reverent moment, but soon the same thought dug deep inside each of their minds.

Ron voiced it. “What - uh, what do you think she’s doing in there?”

Dean looked at each of them and nodded in silent agreement. He crept to the side of the curtain and peeled it away just enough for them all to see.

Fleur bending over the bed as she whispered, sweeping Harry’s hair out of his eyes. 

Many years later, Dean would take six months of after-work training in Occlumency, purely so he could recall the image of Fleur bent over, her pussy outlined in the wet taut material of her swimsuit, a hint of pink peeking from the sides.

“Heal quick, kind chevalier.” She murmured. “Zank you for rescuing my Gabrielle.”

A kiss to his forehead.

Fleur sighed and then squealed as she suddenly tripped and fell onto the bed, onto Harry. 

A comatose Harry squirmed uncomfortably, his hand reaching out to take a firm grasp of Fleur’s rear cheeks, so sudden that a loud clap sounded.

“Oh merde!” Fleur muttered.

The boys stared, open-mouthed. She tried to wriggle away without hurting her injured hero, but she was held in place. Through her mass of silvery-blonde hair, they saw a single one of Harry’s green eyes open, look at them.

And wink.

Dean quietly tugged the curtain closed.

They turned away silently to the pier railings, watching the lake, all of them needing a moment to contemplate what they’d seen.

To their surprise, it was a red-faced Neville who spoke first.

“Was that a trip jinx?” He demanded.

“Yup.” Dean sighed.

“Jammy dodger.” Seamus said in admiration.

“Harry,” Neville began as he stared into the darkest depths of the lake, his fist clenched. “Is the luckiest bastard this world has ever seen.”