( Every character in this story is a legal adult over the age of 18 )
Harry and the Divorcees
Chapter 1
The magical world had never faced a collapse so total or so ruinous. The end started small, with policy blunders at the Ministry, mismanagement at Gringotts, and the slow bleed of Muggle-borns leaving the country for safer markets. It was a death spiral, but nobody called it that until the vaults started running dry. Witches and wizards suddenly found themselves poor and desperate, and the first luxury to go was marriage.
Apolline Delacour stared into the late afternoon sun through the parlor window of her new home, which was a two-room cottage on the edge of a forest in northern France. The walls were too thin, and the kitchen was in desperate need of a makeover. She’d spent twenty-five years in the Delacour Manor near Avignon, but the French Ministry’s asset seizures and the Goblin’s debt collector squads had reduced her to this. She wasn’t sure what her former husband was living in, but she guessed that it probably wasn’t any better than this shabby cottage.
She shared it now with both her girls. Fleur, once married to the dashing Bill Weasley and the jewel of Beauxbatons society, sat at the far end of the sofa with her knees pressed together and her hair clipped into a tidy bun. The divorce decree had arrived folded in an envelope with the new property title for the cottage. Gabrielle had only graduated from Beauxbatons three years earlier, but defeat looked older on her. They shared a bedroom with two twin beds and a couple of pink quilts scavenged from the attic. The cottage was silent except for the sighs of the three women and the occasional chirp of a confused garden gnome outside the window.
Their finances were dire. Apolline’s ex-husband had nothing left to split in the divorce, and all three were unemployed. Needless to say, after the crash, the job market was complete shit. Apolline had sold the last of her jewelry to stock up on food, which should last them a few months if they were careful. They had a single box of gold coins, and Gabrielle checked it compulsively, as if hoping the coins would breed in the dark.
They sat in silence for a while, just thinking. Both girls were startled at Apolline’s sudden declaration. “We need a man.” Neither Fleur nor Gabrielle responded at first.
Fleur looked up first. “And what, precisely, do you mean by that?” she asked in her native language.
Apolline pressed two fingers to her temples, as she did whenever she was about to be honest. “We need to find a good man with money. Someone who can take care of all of us. Someone who appreciates what Veela have to offer.”
“You know that’s not how the world works! Even in Britain, the old contracts …” Fleur stopped, embarrassed by the desperate logic she’d nearly aired.
Gabrielle rolled her eyes. “How is this different from prostitution, maman?”
Apolline’s lips twisted in a smirk. “It is only prostitution if you are cheap and leave your heart at home. What I am suggesting is a patron. Someone worthy. Someone powerful. Someone who can afford us.”
The conversation drifted, but the idea remained. Fleur and Gabrielle spent the next hour listing every magical bachelor with a respectable fortune, and each name was dismissed for reasons of taste, location, or personal history. There were no eligible men in France. At least none that they knew about. The crash had wiped out the fortunes of so many.
It was Fleur who finally said, “There’s ‘Arry Potter.”
Apolline leaned back in her chair and rubbed her chin in thought. “Tell me about this ‘Arry Potter. Do not tell me about the war. I have read the papers.”
Fleur hesitated. “He is very rich. He pulled all of his gold from Gringotts before the Goblin rebellion, and he invested heavily in Muggle society. He once told me that most of his galleons had been converted into Muggle money, which he used to buy real estate. I don’t know if it’s completely true or not, but ‘Ermione Granger told me that he was one of the wealthiest men in Muggle Britain. He outsmarted the entire British wizarding establishment. And he is single. There are rumors of love affairs, of course, but I don’t know whether that’s true or just gossip. He lives in London but travels often.”
Gabrielle giggled. “He is also terribly handsome. I have seen pictures of him in Witch Weekly. They put him on the Most Eligible list three years running. Maybe he will not mind three French veela in one cottage?”
Apolline tapped her chin with a finger. “So go and get him.”
Fleur’s face turned pink. “Maman. I cannot just … seduce ‘Arry. He is my friend.”
Apolline smiled deviously. “Which means he trusts you. That’s even better.”
Gabrielle leaned forward with her hands clasped under her chin. “I’m in. This is fun.”
“I am serious.” Fleur tried to sound angry, but her voice ended up sounding a bit hopeful. “ ‘Arry is not a fool. He will see right through us.”
Apolline shrugged with a smirk. “See through what? We are three women in need, and he is a man of means. Yes, he will provide for us, but he will get much in return. Besides, we don’t need to tell him our plan. I’m simply saying to bring him over here so we can use our feminine charms on him. Perhaps he will act on our flirtations, and if he does, he will think that it was his idea all along. Do you really think he will complain about having three gorgeous Veela under him?”
Fleur went silent. Then she asked, “What if he doesn’t act on them?”
“Then we must figure something else out,” Apolline simply stated. Fleur sighed and reluctantly agreed.
Harry and the Divorcees
Apolline was applying her evening moisturizer when Fleur knocked twice on her bedroom door and entered without waiting for an answer. Gabrielle was already sprawled on the bed, flipping through an old magazine, but she sat upright when she saw the look on Fleur’s face. Fleur’s cheeks were flushed, and her lips were pursed tightly, signaling that she was trying and failing to hide her excitement.
“Well?” Apolline asked, dabbing at her cheekbones. “What did he say?” Fleur did not have to ask who ‘he’ was. Even Gabrielle was alert now, and she was sitting up with her legs curled beneath her.
Fleur let the suspense hang for a moment. Then she exhaled and said, “He said he’d love to see us. He’s been so bored in London, apparently. He sounded very keen to meet us all, maman.”
Apolline’s relief was so visible that Gabrielle laughed. The lines around Apolline’s mouth softened, and her posture lost its edge. “I knew he had a good head on his shoulders. When is he coming?”
Fleur smiled nervously, and it was edged with disbelief. “He’s not coming here. He wants us to come to him.” She reached into the pocket of her robe and pulled out a slip of parchment. “He invited all three of us to stay for the next fortnight at his new … beach villa. He just bought it, somewhere on the French Riviera.”
Gabrielle shrieked, “Are we going to the Riviera?” She flopped off the bed, caught herself clumsily, and started dancing around the room.
Apolline’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction, and she nodded with measured approval. “That is very generous of him,” she said, already mentally tallying the wardrobe they would need. “He is still unattached, yes?”
Fleur nodded. “He’s very much single.” She hesitated. “He did say the villa is quite large, and that he would love to have us as guests. He sounded … lonely. Most of his friends have left the country in search of work since the economic downfall,” she explained.
Apolline’s face softened a moment, and even Gabrielle sobered. “Oh, poor boy,” Apolline murmured, as if Harry’s vast fortune were nothing next to the pain of loneliness. But she soon collected herself and clapped her hands decisively. “We must not look desperate or provincial. If we are to visit him, we will need new clothes, and we will need to look like we belong there.”
Gabrielle squealed again. “Bikinis! We need to buy so many!”
“That is a must,” Apolline said, glancing down at her own gorgeous figure.
While older, Apolline still looked to be in her early thirties. She had silky smooth skin, cock-hardening curves, and a pair of tits that couldn’t be beaten. They were large, round, and incredibly perky, and yet, when she walked, they would bounce around in her top and draw the attention of every man with eyesight. She could already imagine Harry’s response when he first saw her in a teeny bikini. The thought almost made her giggle.
“And yes, we must go shopping. We will go first thing tomorrow,” Apolline added.
Fleur tried to look indifferent, but she was smiling more than she had in weeks. “He has a house elf now, you know. She apparently cooks every meal. And the villa has a pool, and its own beach. I think he’s trying to impress us.”
“Of course he is,” said Apolline, smoothing her hair. “Men always try to impress beautiful women, even when they think they are above such things.” She looked at Fleur directly. “You will need to set the tone, Fleur. If he is to think of us as more than a holiday fling, you must make sure he sees us as something refined, and not just pretty girls looking for a sponsor.” She fixed a look at Gabrielle, who was making fish lips at herself in the mirror.
Gabrielle ignored the warning. “What if he falls in love with both of us?” she asked, throwing a conspiratorial wink to Fleur.
Fleur rolled her eyes, but Apolline did not immediately dismiss the possibility. “If he is as smart as you say, he will enjoy the company of all three of us,” she said, catching her own reflection in the wall mirror and adjusting a stray lock of hair. “But we must not appear greedy. We must be affectionate, but gracious,” she stated, making sure everyone knew their part. Fleur and Gabrielle nodded in understanding.
Harry and the Divorcees
The Portkey deposited them in the back garden of Harry’s villa, and the crisp scent of sea air immediately rushed over them. All three women staggered for a moment on the stone pathway, blinking in the blinding sunlight. Gabrielle nearly lost her balance, but Fleur caught her by the elbow and steadied her with a practiced hand. The villa’s garden stretched before them. There were two full acres of terraced lawns, wildflowers, and meandering gravel paths lined with olive and lemon trees. It was the Mediterranean at its most decadent, and every inch had been curated to suggest effortless luxury. Bees buzzed among the bluebells, and somewhere farther off, the sea crashed against the cliffs.
Apolline, who had not smiled so wide in months, inhaled deeply and let the salt air fill her lungs. The villa itself was perched above the gardens like a pale stone crown. Its shutters were flung open, and its balconies overflowed with white and purple petunias. To the west, the lawns rolled downhill in a patchwork of shade and light, leading the eye directly to the beautiful blue of the Mediterranean. The effect was enchanting.
Gabrielle was the first to recover. “It is so beautiful,” she whispered, shielding her eyes with one hand while her other clung tightly to the handle of her suitcase.
Fleur simply laughed and shook her head. “It is indeed,” she replied. “It’s almost too perfect to be real.”
Apolline’s blue eyes were fixed on the villa’s grand entrance, where a set of marble steps led up to a set of arched double doors. “ ‘E must have spent millions,” she said in a hush, switching to English.
“It certainly wasn’t cheap,” said Harry, who had appeared suddenly at the end of the path. He looked every bit the wealthy lady’s man the magazines made him out to be. He was handsome, tanned, relaxed, and grinning with ease. He looked like a man who didn’t have a single problem in his life. Apolline couldn’t help but feel jealous.
Fleur’s self-control melted in an instant. She dropped her bag, dashed down the path, and threw herself into his arms, nearly knocking him backward. They embraced tightly, and neither seemed willing to let go first. Then she pulled away and started to say something, but the laughter in her throat made it impossible.
Apolline and Gabrielle followed at a more measured pace. Both took him in with silent, appraising glances. Up close, Harry was even more striking. His black hair caught the sunlight brilliantly. He was taller and broader than either of them thought he would be.
Harry greeted Apolline with a courtly kiss on her hand, but his smile was warm and genuine. “You’re more beautiful than Fleur described,” he said.
Apolline batted her lashes. “You are too kind, monsieur. And you are too handsome for your own good, I think.”
When his attention moved to Gabrielle, she blushed and extended her hand, which Harry took and kissed as well. This greatly pleased Gabby.
“I’m so glad you all made it,” he said. “The house elf will take your bags and show you to your rooms. You’ll have the whole east wing to yourselves. Unless you want to pick out your own rooms, in which case, you’re welcome to explore.”
Gabrielle squealed, then smacked her palm over her mouth in embarrassment. She pulled Harry’s arm to her chest and hugged it, then buried her face in the sleeve of his shirt. “We are never going ‘ome,” she declared in a muffled voice.
Fleur rolled her eyes, but her mouth had curled into a delighted smile. She reached out and tugged at Gabrielle’s ear playfully. “Let go of ‘im before you give ‘im a swollen ‘ead,” Fleur said.
Harry laughed. “I can handle it. I’m used to strong women, remember?”
Apolline watched the exchange with a reserved sort of satisfaction. She noted the way Harry’s gaze flicked over all three of them, noting their reactions. He was smarter than she had expected. It was a rare thing in men his age, especially ones with money. He allowed Gabrielle her theatrics, but when Fleur tilted her chin with mock haughtiness, he answered it with a chuckle and a squeeze of her waist.
“Come in,” he said, and gestured up the steps. “Lunch is waiting. I have a house elf who cooks better than any chef. And there’s wine.”
They followed him up the stairs with Gabrielle still clinging to his arm, and Apolline lingered at the threshold only long enough to catch her gorgeous reflection in one of the tall windows. The years had been kind to her, she decided. She hoped the coming years would be even better.
Inside, the villa was palatial, but it still somehow appeared homey. The ceilings soared overhead, held aloft by pale wooden beams, and sunlight poured through every window. The air smelled faintly of rosemary and baking bread, which Apolline loved. The resident house elf obviously kept the house in excellent condition. Freshly cut flowers were arranged in every vase, candied fruits were placed in delicate bowls, and there wasn’t a speck of dust or smudge anywhere to be seen.
Gabrielle finally let go of Harry’s arm, but she hovered near him as if tethered by an invisible string. Her eyes roamed the paintings that lined every hallway, and she paused at a candid black-and-white photograph of Harry, flanked by two women they didn’t recognize. She pointed at it. “Girlfriends?” she asked.
Harry glanced at the photograph and smiled. “We traveled together a few years ago. They were not exactly girlfriends. Friends, mostly. They live in Australia now.” He led them into the main sitting room, where a low table was already set with platters of bread, cheeses, olives, and bowls of fruit so ripe that Apolline could smell them from ten feet away.
Apolline drifted toward the windows, which opened onto a terrace shaded by grapevines. The sea breeze fluttered the curtains and carried in the distant sound of a boat engine. For a second, she allowed herself to fantasize that this was their home, that she was a lady of leisure, and that her girls would be safe forever here in this stunning home by the sea. She snapped out of it when she caught Harry watching her with a curious half-smile.
He drew out a chair for her. “Please, sit. Make yourselves comfortable.”
Apolline settled onto the chair and folded her hands in her lap. Fleur took a seat beside her, and Gabrielle sat herself on the arm of Harry’s chair, heedless of propriety. She kicked her feet and surveyed the spread with obvious delight.
“I hope you’re hungry,” said Harry. “I told the elf to go all out.”
“We ‘aven’t eaten since breakfast,” said Fleur, reaching for a wedge of cheese. “Gabrielle insisted we fast so we would look thinner and sexier.”
“It worked,” Harry said, earning a chorus of laughter.
They spent a while eating, drinking, and sharing stories about getting ready for the trip, the Portkey, and the endless disasters of post-war France. Apolline deflected questions about her ex-husband and instead steered the conversation to the villa’s history. Harry, it turned out, was an attentive listener, and he nodded and asked just enough questions to keep everyone talking.
At one point, Harry excused himself to refill the wine glasses, and Gabrielle turned on Fleur. “He’s even better looking than the magazines, isn’t he?” she asked in French.
Fleur nodded while nibbling on a slice of sourdough. “He is. He’s also very clever. I bet he knows exactly what we’re here for.”
Apolline sipped her wine and leaned forward. “If he does, he hasn’t said so. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
Harry returned and set the bottle on the table. “To new beginnings,” he said, raising his glass.
“To new beginnings,” they echoed and clinked their glasses.
Gabrielle hugged Harry’s arm again as they stood to explore the rest of the villa. Fleur shook her head, but she was still smiling, unable to remember the last time she had felt so light.