Title: Patron

Character(s): Victor Krum and Fleur Delacour

Rating: T

Warning(s): Alcohol

Challenge(s): Harry Potter Fanfiction Challenges – Yule Ball Challenge

Word Count: 1,076

AN: This is a one-shot, based on the prompt 'loud' and 'Marry You' by Bruno Mars.

The Hogwarts Great Hall was decorated beautifully. Real trees adorned the hall, as magical snow floated around. It didn't fall like typical snow; it twirled and danced along with the sounds of the hall. Viktor Krum was one of the first to arrive. He had a date with a Hogwarts witch, and a bloody smart one at that. She was beautiful, because she didn't act like other girls following him around. She held her own, and next to him that was a bloody feat.

Fleur Delacour walked into the Great Hall, after shrugging off her lace cover up, she walked over to her date. She knew he was from the smart house, the house that had accepted them. He was cute enough, but there wasn't any danger, no flash. She knew she'd get bored but between him and the screaming red haired boy no one else had asked her to the ball. They were intimidated.

Everyone was intimated of her. She had a presence, one that wasn't to be competed with. She was beautiful, athletic, and smart. No one from Beauxbatons even tried to compete with her. They knew it was a lost cause.

Her grey and gold dress started to swirl around the dance floor as the Champions were the first to dance. She hated him from that second, he stepped on her foot. And she had to lead, well she might not have had too but she did. She always led. She held the control and he followed like a love sick puppy dog.

Krum waited as his date descended the stairs. She looked beautiful, she was wearing pink though. It made her look younger, he'd forgotten how young she was, he was 17, and she was only 14. How could that work? She wouldn't be as fun as other girls, but she could hold her own, and that's what attracted him.

They danced until the song ended, Fleur and Roger walked off to grab a drink. Krum and Hermione started dancing, jumping up and down with the crowd as the band played.

When they reached the punch bowl, Fleur graciously took her glass before spinning and dumping the contents of her flask inside. She carefully fit the flask back into her clutch and downed her punch. Both couples spent the next few hours dancing, Roger though got sore after about two hours and retired. Krum wasn't entirely sure what happened but when he left to get them drinks Hermione had run by him in an angry fit of tears.

He wasn't exactly sure where she went so he didn't follow. But he did pull out a flask that was neatly tucked inside his coat. Karkaroff had given it to him earlier. It might make this uptight occasion a little more exciting.

He looked around searching for someone to dance with or at least something to do. Fleur scanned the floor looking for another reasonable dancing partner. Her eyes settled on Krum, who had very conveniently tucked a flask into his jacket pocket. She walked over gracefully smiling at Professor Dumbledore. She would have sworn that his eyes twinkled at her, but she kept walking.

She'd found something dumb to do to. She was going to aggravate a fellow champion, and she was going to bloody enjoy it. She snuck up behind him, never quite landing all the way on her heels. She slipped her fingers into his pocket and pulled out the flask. Walking around the round table she took a long swig from the flask. She was facing him and he was starring, he didn't have a single bloody clue. She smiled and waved the now almost empty flask in front of his face. That's when recognition caught up with him. That was his.

He stood quickly, pulling his wand. She drew her's quickly, but slid the flask back to him over the shiny table. He lowered his wand and cocked and eyebrow. She walked over and pulled him back to the jumping student body. They quickly joined in the loud music. Their bodies quickly overheating, the alcohol starting to make the world fuzzy and the heels of her shoes not thicker than a needle.

He loved the way she moved, she moved like she was the only one in the room, even when bodies were not even inches from her own. He loved that she had the power to mess with him, he loved that she could do that when even Karkaroff didn't have the balls to do. He loved the way she drew attention from every angle. She was commanding perfection.

She could feel him watching her, she loved that a professional Quidditch player was following her around. That he had the guts to walk behind her and pull her close. That he could grab her lower than appropriate. She fucking loved his confidence; no one could hold their confidence next to her.

"Hey Baby" he said as his hands slipped onto her hips.

He noticed how she pushed herself back into him as he grabbed her hips. He wanted to marry this girl, she was bloody brilliant.

Her eyes seemed to sparkle as they danced, a thin sheet of parchment couldn't fit between them. He knew she'd accept his advances; she was old enough too, not like the crying Hermione. But he couldn't figure out whether the little sips of naughty water had him feeling like this or not. The dancing juice had really gotten to him.

But he didn't care, at the moment, all he wanted to do was make her his. Make her his forever; he wanted to marry the babe that he had wrapped in his arms.

After a few hours, they left the Great Hall, wandering outside. He held her hand as they walked around the Black Lake.

"Hey Babe" he said as he swept her over to kiss her. They hadn't talked, but there were unspoken words. She could handle his presence, something Hermione didn't even seem to be able to handle. Fleur was strong, she was brilliant, and she was gorgeous. Like those veela at the world cup.

She started to yank on his coat, like she wanted it off. He wanted it off too, but he couldn't. Not when it was this cold. He drug her over across the Black Lake, a simple freezing spell keeping them from sinking into the cold water. When they reached the gates of Hogsmeade he yanked her down the cobblestone boulevard, running with her, through small piles of snow.

They reached a small chapel against the mountain, and he pulled her into his side. She fit perfectly under his arm, into his torso. She was small but strong, lithe really.

"Ve can't get married Viktor." Said Fleur matter of factly.

"No one will know." He whispered into her soft white hair. It was regal, and he really bloody wanted this, wanted to mark her as his. Metal, tattoos, but mainly himself. He pulled her, towards his wishes and she reluctantly followed.

He laughed as she stumbled towards the door, she was plastered, and he was trashed. But it didn't matter. He didn't care and the funny looking man behind the desk inside the chapel surely didn't care as Krum slammed gold down on the desk.

Her flask got pulled out once again, and as she took a shot and passed it. It was the same odd Mexican tequila he'd tasted off her lips earlier. It was sharp and smooth, pleasant and painful; just like her, a symbol of duality.

"No Viktor" she said as the funny man tried to drag her into a wedding dress.

"Ves Fleur." He replied slipping into a suit jacket





"Fine, Let's go" she said grabbing his hand and rushing down the alley pulling him down with her.

"Ready?" he asked

"Are you?" she asked, smiling in acceptance. He grabbed her hand and stood in front of the funny looking man. He grabbed a ring from the man and smiled as the choir bells rung from the corner.

"I zink, I vould like to marryz you, Monsieur Krum." Fleur shot as she pulled her lips back from his. He just smiled and pushed back into her. She wrapped her legs around his waist. He wanted to marry her too.

He knew it would probably be the worst idea in the morning, but he didn't care. He wouldn't care If she ran screaming from him in the morning, because for one night she was his. A woman that could hold her own, call him on his shit, and draw attention away from his was his. His to hold, his to love and his to take.

The ceremony was small, quiet and quick. As they left the chapel, Fleur had a thick ring wrapped around her finger. His Quidditch World Cup ring, she could have it. This night meant more to him than the ring, only the memories could compare to her.

They returned to his private quarters yanking a bottle of Central American liquor off the shelf and grabbing two shot glasses.

"Tell me somefing Fleur." His guttural voice said as he poured a shot

"I 'sink very much tat I 'ill win the tournament." She said cockily and slammed the shot back on the counter.

"I vould think that too. Except I'll be vinning the tournament, Ms. Fleur." He tossed his shot back and smiled.

He met her lips once again, pulling her up and propping her up with the wall. He could hear a few pictures falling off the other side of the wall. He didn't care, his lips met her collarbone and as he started to leave purplish dark marks along her flawless skin.

They were a match, even if it was just for tonight. They were both strong, both smart, they both had a presence other wizards didn't hold. When you made a difference in the world, there was a presence you carried yourself with. She had it, he had it.

They did stupid things, completely blitzed, but neither regretted it. Because how could you regret a night of drunken fun?

AN: Please Review :)