AN: This is a part of the first ever drabble collection put together by the lovely authors over at the flowerpot discord! You can find us at discord .gg/ Np2zjAH. You can find the collection within the community at www .fanfiction community/ Flowerpot-Garden-1 /133114/. I hope you enjoy this one-shot!

Dense smoky air hung low in the Clumsy Badger. A high, two-story ceiling did little to help, instead just amplifying the jovial conversations and friendly shouts that rolled through the sizable pub. The bottom floor, as it was most nights, was packed to the point of standing-room-only. The tall standing tables that normally dotted the space had been pushed beneath the balcony that wrapped around the upper floor, overlooking the crowd below.

Harry slipped through the crowd as best he could manage, eventually giving up on apologizing to everyone he jostled. He ducked a pint that was being used as a boisterous storytelling device, the inebriated man swinging it telling of fanciful duels from the war. Harry slipped away from the group, lest he be recognized.

Tonks' pub had a well-enforced 'no gawking over the celebrities' policy, one for which he was supremely grateful, but it never hurt to avoid the over-friendly drunks. He slid between two portly men who called welcomes to their approaching friends. The stench of alcohol-infused sweat assaulted him with the same enthusiasm of the boisterous men. He waved a hand ineffectually in front of his face as he approached the bar.

Tonks waited for him, a glass in one hand and his favorite firewhisky in the other. She sported a garish neon green hairdo that fell to just below her shoulders. He let out an inaudible sigh. Bright green foretold a mischievous Tonks.

It'd taken him a handful of years to learn Tonks' secret hair language. He doubted that she was conscious of its existence, and had no plans to give up such a valuable tool. Pink when she was bored, red when she was ready to fight, and its natural light-brown when she was playing with Teddy. He nearly stumbled at the thought of his godson. His fourth birthday was coming up. How could that be possible?

He grabbed the glass from Tonks and downed the drink in a single smooth motion. Warmth rolled down his throat and his back eliciting pleasant shivers that traveled through his body.

"Wotcher, Harry." She snagged the empty glass from his hand and dropped it somewhere out of sight.

He frowned at his empty hand. "Just the one? Usually, you let me have at least two before forcing me into these things."

The tips of her hair burst into a nervous orange before she got herself under control. Shoulders tensed, he checked his wand in his pocket before mentally berating himself for the old habit. Her pub wasn't that sort of place. Tonks and her three hulking bouncers had seen to that. Sure there had been a brawl or two back in the early days of the bar, back when she was still searching everywhere for that spark that made her…her. She hadn't needed bouncers back then. Even now, the ex-Auror often finished any fights that started in earnest with deft precision.

Tonks shook her head, her now solid green hair shaking with the movement, brushing at the tops of her shoulders. "You're gonna want to be on your game for this one." She grinned, a spark lighting in her eyes.

He sighed, making a halfhearted swipe for the bottle of firewhisky she had left on the counter, but she slid it out of reach with a shake of her head.

"I can't believe you like this stuff," she said, inspecting the bottle as one might inspect a screaming mandrake baby. "It's horrible. Burns my mouth."

"I like spicy things." He shrugged and leaned against the bar, surveying the bustling pub. An odd mix of anxiety and contentment roiled in his stomach next to the alcohol. Tonks' place was one of the few locations he could visit unaccosted, even all these years later. Not to say a few people hadn't tried, but they'd swiftly found themselves deposited outside in the dingy side-street of Diagon Alley.

"Well then, have I got news for you," she said, leaning forward in an effort to not be overheard by the other patrons at the long bartop. "Tonight's meetup has all the 'spice' you'll need."

He glanced at her sidelong, a pit forming in his stomach. He tolerated Tonks' friendly matchmaking efforts, but her meddling occasionally grew out of hand. Alarm bells rang to the tone of bright orange tips.

"Tonks…" he warned. "Exactly who is waiting for me back there?"

She shrugged, her hair staying obstinately green. Damn. He narrowed his eyes. Unforgivable time then. "Nympha-"

"It's not a blind date if I tell you who it is," she said, plonking another glass of firewhisky down in front of her. He downed it in one quick movement. It tasted of spicy olive branch.

"It better not be who I think it is," he grumbled, groaning when he saw the guilty twitch. "That ship has sailed, Tonks." She busied herself with dirty glasses, tapping the empty ones on the bar top with her wand, sending them flying through the air to the sink. "Tonks!"

She whirled on him, pointing her wand at his nose, fire in her eyes. Years of learned control kept him from ducking out of the way, but it was a near thing.

Her hair was a bright vibrant red. Better than black he supposed. Then he would have been in proper trouble. People often forgot that the affable woman descended from one of the most historically violent and unstable pureblood lines. Tonks almost never took after her aunt. Almost.

"You owe me, Harry," she said, her eyes flitting down to her wand. She let her hand fall with an apologetic smile.

"This isn't how life debts are supposed to be used," he groused. "It'd be much easier to reciprocate and save you from a dark wizard, rather than to keep going through all this." He pointed a finger at her. "After this one, debt settled."

"That's not fair," she complained, casting a guilty glance towards the side of the pub that held the stairwell to the upper rooms, where his 'mystery' date waited for him.

"It's not fair to set me up on a date with my ex." He pulled off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "How about this. I promise to at least try. No guarantees, but I won't be an arse about it. I do that, and I'm off the hook."

"Seems a weak bargain for me to lose my bragging rights. I've got our savior at my personal beck and call. If I'm in trouble, Harry Potter himself swoops in to help," she said, grinning.

He made a face. "Ugh. I'd help you anyway, you know. Gross. Do you actually brag to people about it?"

"Of course not!" she said, affronted. "Well, only to people who know you better than that. It helps because they also know it's true."

"Shoulda let me get cursed," he grumbled. "It would've been less trouble. One more after this one. That's my final offer, take it or leave it. If this meetup doesn't work out, you get one more."

"I'd have to make it a doozy then, huh," she said, staring up at the ceiling in thought. The sound of breaking glass pulled her from her thoughts and she hopped the bar in one practiced motion. "Quit stalling," she said as she passed, wand in hand. "Either I've got some cleanup to do or a fight to finish. Either way, I've got it covered. Don't keep her waiting any longer. First door on the right."

Harry slipped through the pub-goers, moving against the flow of drunk people shifting as one to watch the commotion. He jostled his way through, finally breaking free. Grumbling from the crowd told him that whatever the reason behind the noise had been, it hadn't escalated into a fight. He avoided the first stair, a rickety board that he vaguely remembered promising to fix during one of their late-evening drunken chats. As usual, he was already halfway up the stairs before he remembered, and made a mental note to take care of the transfiguration on his way out. Hopefully sooner, rather than later.

He glanced out over the pub as he climbed the last few steps, spotting Tonks' now icy-blue hair snaking through the bodies below. He turned to find a solitary figure sitting at one of the tall tables, halfway down the balcony.

He blinked. Was this who Tonks had been talking about? He hadn't seen her in years. But wasn't she-

She waved to him, beckoning him to join her at the table. He slid into the tall seat opposite her, desperately searching for the calm resignation he had held only moments before. It returned, if unwillingly.

"I'm surprised to see you here," he said, clasping his hands together on the table. He wished he had a drink to sip. "You're not who I was expecting."

Fleur smiled. A perfect, knowing smile. He was all of seventeen again, capturing forbidden glances before fleeing his relatives' house.

"The one you are expecting still waits in that room," she said, her crystalline voice less accented than he remembered. "I am merely here for support."

"You came to support me?"

Her smile grew and she stared at him with those piercing blue eyes of hers. No, he was fourteen again. A 'leetle boy'.

He wasn't having that.

"I thought you two didn't get along. Now you're coming as an emotional support friend?" He leaned back in his chair, returning her smile with one of his own to take any potential sting from his words.

"She has been…making an effort." Her fingers wrapped around a glass of wine that sat in front of her, and she lifted it to her lips. "I am sure you recall that she was not very fond of me early on."

He nodded. "I figured it was because you were stealing her big brother."

"Stealing," she said with a scoff, setting her glass down with enough force to jostle the liquid inside. "That was part of it, I have no doubt. I will not bore you with the stories of why women often hate me and mine." She pursed her lips, staring at him for a tense moment. "But there may be truth in your words. She did not reach out until after Bill and I were no longer together."

"You and Bill split up?" He was suddenly glad for his lack of drink, as his jerk of surprise would've surely dumped the glass. "I hadn't heard."

"A side effect of making yourself unavailable to the world, I suspect."

"I'm here, aren't I?"

"At the behest of a misapplied life debt?" One perfect eyebrow arched in question. She pushed a lock of silvery hair behind her ear. "Not everyone has such a convenient hold of you."

"You make it sound worse than it is," he said, shrugging.

"You are here to meet with your ex-fiancee."

"That's…a fair point." Another glass broke downstairs and he heard Tonks' indistinct bellow from behind the bar.

"A hectic place," Fleur said, leaning over to peek over the balcony railing. "I am surprised she does not hold the establishment to a higher standard. Surely she can afford it, considering her family."

It was his turn to raise an eyebrow in surprise. Or rather, both, as he had never mastered the impressive technique. "Tonks' family was disinherited. I'm surprised you don't know that."

Fleur frowned at him and took another drink of wine. "Our paths did not cross much, even during the war. What little of your country's pureblood fanaticism I know, I learned by listening."

He grinned, which seemed to make her frown deeper. He supposed he should let her off the hook. "I couldn't tell you a thing about the French class system if there is one, so I can't exactly hold you to task for the mistake."

"Another cost of your isolation?" A smile. A sip.

"Being a hermit isn't so bad. Plenty of time for myself. Nobody banging my door down for interviews or favors."

"Only the ones who ask you to meet with people you do not wish to meet?"

"It's…complicated," he said, fighting the urge to check downstairs for his friend. "Besides, Teddy is my godson. I've got to check on him every once in a while."

She nodded, content with his answer. He was surprised that made him happy.

"What is it you do when passing the time in your hermitage? I would expect it to be rather boring."

"Read or bake, mostly," he said. "If I get really bored I'll pop out to Diagon or Hogsmeade so the tabloids will run their 'Harry Sighting' headlines for a few days. That's always good for a laugh."

Her eyes twinkled with the smile that crossed her face, and she let out a soft laugh. "I find myself believing you. Why pick up such a bizarre hobby?"

"Those people used to peek in my windows before I learned I needed to charm them. Then they'd hire out-of-work curse breakers to dispel my charms, and I had to get a home placed under the Fidelius. I figure costing them some money while they try to figure out where I'm coming from is fair game."

She nodded, finishing off the rest of her glass. She peered at it for a moment before holding it out to him. "I will have another. You should get something for yourself as well. It is not proper for only one of us to be drinking."

He glanced at the door that waited for him by the stairs. "I should probably-"

She shook the glass between two fingers, her eyes locked expectantly on his. He plucked the glass from her waiting hand and stood. He doubted his conversation with Ginny was going to go well. No reason he couldn't enjoy catching up with an old friend before subjecting himself to that.

Tonks was behind the bar, her back to him as she rummaged through a lower cabinet. Her hair was bright pink and she hummed to herself as she shifted through the cabinet. He clinked his glass on the bar, smiling.

"I've got a name and I'm sure you know it," she said, not turning around. "And if you whistle at me you'll be sailing through the front windows."

"You can try," he said, "but I doubt it."

She spun and stood, her eyes wide with surprise. She looked down at the empty glass. "Did you two polish off the bottle already? I didn't think you liked wine all that much."

"I don't," he said, handing over the glass to be refilled. His heart warmed as she filled the glass halfway. Tipsy angry Ginny was far less fighty than sober angry Ginny. He winced internally. She'd been waiting long enough that he was sure he'd see at least one of them.

"Firewhisky then?" she asked, already pouring some into a glass.

"No," he said. "Just a beer. I don't want to get drunk."

"But I've already poured it!"

"Drink it yourself," he said, pushing the glass to her. She made a face, then foisted it off on a man sitting a few seats away. "On the house." She turned back to Harry. "Things are going well then?"

"After a fashion," he said. "My beer?"

"You're as pushy as everyone else is," she grumbled, grabbing a glass and filling it from the nearby tap.

"Imagine that," he said, picking up his glass before the condensation had a chance to form. "Wanting service at a bar."

"Get going. Don't want to keep the lady waiting."

He nodded, hoping none of his guilt seeped through his calm expression. Ginny would be furious with him, but Tonks would get an earful too. Though…it served her right for meddling.

Fleur waited for him patiently, her hands folded in her lap. She accepted her glass with quiet thanks and took a small drink. He followed suit and tried not to make a face. Tonks knew he hated this one. Tricky.

"You do not like it?" Fleur asked, gesturing to his drink.

"I made Tonks waste some alcohol, so she got me back."

"By wasting more alcohol?"

"True, but trust me, she won."

She shrugged and pushed her glass forward. "You may have some if you wish."

He shook his head. "Thanks, but I'm not really a big fan of wine."

Another eyebrow, somehow now conveying stark disapproval. "We will fix this."

He took an involuntary sip of his beer, then pushed it away, shuddering. "I doubt it. Wine is always so dry. I can't stand it."

"I have my work cut out for me I see."

"I don't know-"

"I am free next week at this time," Fleur said, glancing down to a silver watch on her wrist. She looked over his shoulder before focusing on him. "If you are free as well, I will spare some time to properly educate you."

"How thoughtful of you," he said slowly. He could feel the trap closing around him, but for the life of him he couldn't figure out where it was coming from. If anything, it sounded like a…date.

"I am quite generous, to an extent," she said, smiling an oddly predatory smile. It sent shivers up his spine.

He took control of himself and stared her down. He must have long since lost his edge if she was getting the better of him. "And you think I have nothing better to do than to bow to the whims of someone I haven't seen in years?"

"You would rather read and cook? Maybe taunt the journalists?"

"Well…"

"An evening with me is not so terrible a prospect, I am sure. Make your decision. The offer will not come twice."

Despite himself, he reached out and took another drink of the too-bitter beer to stall for time. It did sound like a date. But, did he want to date Fleur Delacour?

He set the glass down.

What a stupid question.

"I'd like to enjoy myself at least. I don't want to be drinking something I don't like the whole time," he said, letting a small smile curve his lips. "You get three chances to pick a wine I'll like."

"I had presumed the dinner and my company would be enough to satisfy you," she said with a dangerous smile. "But I accept your challenge. I want you to enjoy yourself."

Before he could reply, there was a slam behind him.

The first door on the right had slammed open, exposing a whirlwind of anger and red hair.

She'd let it grow again. It was…nostalgic.

"I'm gonna fucking-" Ginny's fledgling tirade faltered as she spotted them sitting at their table.

Movement from Fleur caught his eye and he turned to see her wave to Ginny. Not the beckoning call he had received, but a dismissive fluttering of her fingers. Her smile grew from its polite placidity to something fierce.

Something victorious.