The Metamorph Next Door
This fic's premise is inspired by the webtoon/pornhwa titled The Gacha Girl Next Door/이웃집 가챠걸 by malgwang and their artist hip. Please check them out.
Story Starts
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Chapter 2.4
The Retail Therapy
Waifu of the Week: Fleur Delacour
~3rd Person POV~
No spice this chapter, we are moving the plot just a little bit.
"I am so truly sorry, Ms Fleur." Harry sat opposite her at his low table, the air already rich with the takeaway's spice. Between them sprawled chicken tikka masala, biryani still steaming from its styrofoam box, phaal curry glowing ominously red, aloo gobi, raita, chutneys, and a precarious stack of naan.
"Ha—ha—ha!" Tonks exploded into laughter, collapsing backwards on the bed until her whole body quaked. Her hair—her usual violet pink or was it magenta?—spilled across the sheets in disarray as the other two tried, half-mortified, to set the table.
'Three bloody minutes,' Harry thought. 'If she doesn't choke on her own mirth soon, I might as well put her out of her bloody misery.'
The thought made him snort, as he was half-amused, half-exasperated by the antics of the metamorph—but, fuck, he really had fucked up today.
"Oh non, I was to blame as well," Fleur said, the rueful curve of her mouth softening the words. "After all, I did take part."
Her voice carried only a trace of the old French melody now—round vowels, gentle consonants—but it still snagged on Harry's ear. That lilt did. He forced his attention back to the food before he started staring.
"But I—"
"Ha—ha—ha!" Tonks erupted again, bursting into another fit of laughter until her breathing turned ragged. She lay sideways on the bed now, facing the apologising pair.
"Bah, nonsense! I was zere ze whole time—if anyone lost control, it was me," Fleur interjected crisply, throwing Tonks a look that could curdle milk.
"Plus…" Fleur hesitated; her next words disolved into a murmur too soft to catch. Her eyes flicked sideways, lashes low, as if she'd already said too much.
"What was that?" Harry asked. Tonks, at last, was winding down, sitting cross-legged, one ankle hooked lazily in her hand while she wiped away a stray tear from her cheek, amusement still ghosting her face.
"I can't believe you'd just grab anyone in front of your door—finger them into a toe-curling orgasm," Tonks said, voice bright with the afterflow of laughter. Her feet swung idly against the sheets like a conductor keeping tempo.
Harry just stared. Unimpressed didn't begin to cover it. Tonks had spent the entire afternoon winding him up—the teasing, the suggestive touches, and that daft idea to turn into Fleur as a 'treat' for helping her out.
Still—he couldn't really blame her; today had been one long tease without payoff. He should have confirmed that Fleur was Tonks before assuming Tonks had morphed into Fleur.
"And you, Fleur. You've always had more restraint than that, haven't you? Even back during our little fling during the Tournament—you were never exactly… what's the word?"
"'Ungry?" Fleur supplied with a frown. "After what Tonks told me, I can't blame you, Arry—but since your crusade against Dumbledore and ze families who stole from you, Bill has been running 'aggard."
Tonks sprang from the bed with her usual reckless grace—almost tripping over her own foot—and dropped onto the floor at the head of the table. A flick of her wand sent plates and cutlery gliding into place; another conjured a flutter of napkins that landed perfectly folded. The smell of butter and garlic wafted out as Tonks divvied out the naan, a piece floating onto each person's plate.
"With Percy and ze twins still at odds wiz zeir parents, and Ginny not yet graduated, it fell to Charlie and Beel to keep ze family afloat," Fleur said, tearing a piece of naan. She placed it delicately on her tongue and chewed with absent grace. Harry caught himself watching—the smooth movement, the poise that came so easily to her—and looked away before Tonks noticed.
Tonks leaned over the spread, stretching just a little too far as she slid spoons into curries. The movement sent a small, natural bounce through her chest—nothing deliberate, yet impossible not to notice.
Fleur's brow lifted a fraction; Harry's gaze jerked away an instant too late. Tonks caught the exchange and tossed him a wicked wink before straightening, hair swinging against her shoulder.
Harry pretended not to notice, busying himself with the tikka masala instead. The sauce gleamed a deep orange-red, its scent earthy, mild, and faintly smoky. He decided to leave the phaal till last—otherwise he'd burn his tongue and taste nothing but regret for the rest of the night.
" When our 'ome was taken, and Beell—oui, even I—were dismissed from Gringotts," Fleur continued. " Zey said Bill was ze one who dealt wiz ze goblin who 'elped steal from you."
Both women began serving themselves: Tonks prudently stayed clear of the phaal, ladling mild portions with military precision, while Fleur unflinchingly scooped a mountain of the lava-red curry.
'Two guesses on who ordered the phaal,' Harry thought wryly, tearing his naan and folding tikka into it.
The first mouthful hit every pleasing note—warm, earthy, mild, decadent. Definitely not his usual takeaway joint; he was already planning on switching places after asking Tonks or Fleur where it was from.
"At first I really didn't know what was truly 'appening," Fleur admitted. "Beel and ze Weasleys were very tight-lipped about it. I even 'ad—what was ze word? Ah yes—a row wiz ze family, when I suggested asking my fazzer for 'elp."
Harry already knew the outline—Ted's notes had covered every sordid detail—but hearing her version, quiet and weary instead of defensive, gave it a different weight.
Harry leaned in and listened. It was the first time he'd heard it from their side—he usually got only Ted Tonks' anecdotal summaries of how the lawsuits had hit them. But from someone who was collateral, their losses acquired weight, and justice sounded far less clean.
Not that he felt guilty about it. 'Sod them,' Harry thought. According to Ted Tonks—and the sour-faced goblin Director Lodgok—they'd been siphoning his funds ever since Bill gained influence in Gringotts. With support from corrupt goblins and their political backers, they'd done it all without anyone noticing.
He propped up one leg, folding it towards his chest and using it as a rest for his arm while he ate spooned biryani and aloo gobi together, listening in silence.
"It 'az been months since I moved out—ever since our fight about my fazzer trying to 'elp by bringing Beel into ze Delacour family to avoid more backlash from your lawsuits." Fleur frowned, nose twitching as she thought, frustration soft on her face.
Fleur scooped a generous spoonful of the phaal, letting the dark red sauce spill over her biryani before lifting it to her lips. The notoriously hot curry didn't seem to faze her. She sat cross-legged on the floor, swallowed, and then slammed her palm against the low table; the wood rattling their plates and cutlery.
"Putain! 'Ow could I be zo stupeed?" she said bitterly, her shoulders sagging in defeat.
She sighed and, with thumb and forefinger, dabbed at the corners of her mouth. Harry watched her lick a streak of dark curry from her fingers—still elegant, even with that edge of frustration colouring her movements.
"Please, Arry, believe me—zhat I 'ave nozzing to dzo wiz any of zis!" Fleur's voice shook. From where Harry sat, he could see her hands tighten in her lap, knuckles white. The desperation was palpable in her eyes. Her accent grew heavier, with consonants softening until her words were blurred by emotion.
"Fleur—hey, don't worry," Harry said, trying to placate her. "We're directing everything at the ones who actually stole from me. We didn't even go after the twins—hell, even Percy, who is a right prick, and Ginny, who also is a prick, were never part of any of it."
With a silent gesture, three tumblers floated to the table, and the familiar amber bottle followed. The scent of charred oak mingled with spice—an impromptu truce in liquid form.
Harry suddenly winced as he remembered. "Though Neville, Susan, and Ron were exceptions," he said, grimacing. "Because Gringotts wants them to pay for their damage to the bank, and their cooperation is conditional on that fact."
"Sorry, I only have some firewhiskey—hope you don't mind?" Harry offered, popping open the cork.
Tonks wordlessly flicked her wand; each tumbler received its measured pair of ice cubes. Fleur accepted the drink with a brief nod, the faint chime of glass against glass restoring a fragile sense of decorum.
Harry's brow furrowed. "Tell me, Fleur—why this urgency to convince me? Are you hoping I might temper judgment against Bill or something?" The question sounded sterner than he meant, yet honesty required it. Besides, he doubted that was the case, especially after today's revelation about her status as Bill's property.
The two women exchanged glances as Tonks shrugged, their heads bobbing and shaking, as if they were in a silent conversation.
"I think it's best things are said aloud," Harry said, his voice clipped as Tonks wore a sheepish look.
"Now, Harry, nothing's set yet, and Dad's still looking at options but—" Tonks said as she trailed off, looking encouragingly at Fleur. "Come now, Fleur. I think it's best he hears this from you rather than from Dad. Plus, Harry is actually quite a good person, toe-curling fingering aside."
That seemed to break some tension; both Harry and Fleur just sighed in exasperation at metamorph's antics. As if steeling herself, Fleur told Harry what she and Ted Tonks had discussed—her current options, and how it might involve him.
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END