To revel with a Veela

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/11596575.

Rating: Explicit
Archive Warning: Underage
Category: F/M
Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Relationship: Fleur Delacour/Harry Potter
Character: Fleur Delacour, Harry Potter
Additional Tags: D/s, Rough Sex, Twisted Affection, Alternate Universe
Stats: Published: 2017-07-24 Updated: 2017-08-21 Chapters: 5/? Words:
63497

To revel with a Veela

by Ruinous_Baron

Summary

It is not said without reason that Veela are inhuman; or how Fleur Delacour came, saw and
conquered Harry Potter.

Notes
See the end of the work for notes
 To revel with a Veela

1994

Sitting in the midst of students at the Ravenclaw table, on October 31st, waiting for the names of
the champions to be drawn from the Goblet of Fire, Fleur's mind whirled this and that-a way,
before coming to a conclusion: she didn't like Hogwarts.

While the ancient castle did possess a certain kind of presence, majesty if you will, it was sorely
lacking in many other ways.

For one, comfort. She couldn't recall when was the last time she'd felt a chill come upon her when
wandering through her school, yet here in Hogwarts a cold breeze seemed to permeate everywhere.
It didn't matter if she was crossing the threshold from the outside and into the Great Hall or
whether she went up towards the library, across those silly moving staircases - and really, those
alone were a life hazard even for witches and wizards - there would always be a near-tangible
atmosphere of winter, despite it still being very much autumn. Whereas in Beauxbatons she could
have easily made her way in nothing more than one of her night-gowns, thin and transparent, and
feel no shiver whatsoever, in Hogwarts, well..

Then there was the food, so heavy and nauseating, these Englishmen were so barbaric that they still
used House Elves, who could never even begin to compare to human chefs and the delicacies they
could bring into existence. Perhaps that is why they kept using these pathetic creatures? Because
they never tasted anything better? In the end, it mattered little to Fleur.

It wasn't the cold, nor the food, which made her miss dear Beauxbatons so much.

No, no, the cause for quite a few grumpy nights had been the boys of Hogwarts.

Back home, she had her pickings, to put it bluntly. Though she was far from being the only witch
there of Veela-mixed heritage, she was, and this was no self-deluded ego talking, quite simply the
best of the whole lot. She was gorgeous. Beautiful. Sexy.

She knew it and she cared not one whit about flaunting or using it at her whimsy. She was a
heartbreaker, amongst other things. With her long, spun white-gold hair, pouty and pink lips, her
more than ample breasts, long pale legs, and overall a willowy, but shapely, figure, who in their
right mind could, or even would, resist?

She still remembered, with fondness, her first conquest: that silly looking boy who'd just started at
Beauxbatons - Jacque - while she was going back for her fourth year. It was a quirk, a slip in the
mood or something like that, that made her decide he would be it. It was the thrill of the hunt that
she loved best about it, plying the boy subtly, teaching him do all those lovely things with his
fingers and tongue, gradually easing him into more and more debauchery, until he was wholly hers.
Or so she had thought. She had not initially thought that her adventures with the boy would lead
him to go astray. Though their relationship was a closely guarded secret, at Fleur's request of
course, that did not allow him to go out and seek his pleasure from others. Fleur's fury was a
terrible thing to behold, and the boy's humiliation remained a vivid memory in everyone's mind.

After Jacque came only two more: Jean and Pierre. And those two lasted exactly one school year
each, relationships she severed of her own accord, rather than dwell in drudgery and anticipation of
imminent betrayal. In a way, it was better that she acted like that, they had found pleasure with one
another, and that pleasure ended eventually, as all things must.

For her seventh year, she actively planned on snatching one particular third-year away from his
negligent girlfriend, but then... then this damnable Tri-Wizard Tournament matter had been
brought up before the whole of Beauxbatons, and of course she was one of the best and brightest,
and of course it was expected she would participate, and of course her refusal to go had been
ignored. An opportunity of a lifetime, Madam Maxime had said. Fleur cared nothing for it.

All the same, her plans had been spoiled, what with the encouragement of her parents, and the
somewhat infectious joy from little Gabrielle as well, and she had found herself in a bit of a dry
spell or two. Amy and Dannielle, her beautiful and faithful friends, had done their best to help her
out, but even that had its limits before the Veela part of her reared its ugly head and demanded
more than those pitiful offerings. It demanded submission. It demanded adulation. It demanded
carnal indulgence.

All else could burn to cinders, so long as it had its due.

And Fleur was not one to deny herself for too long. The only reason, in fact, that she had not
approached one of the boys from Beauxbatons was quite simple: they were too old and already set
in their ways, leaning towards unyielding, rather than pliable.

And the boys of Hogwarts? Merde. They were so... so bland! She couldn't, not for the life of her,
understand why the whole damnable country and its inhabitants were so bleak in demeanor and
appearance. Everything seemed to be so subdued as to lack any passion, any heat, and grace or
beauty. If there was beauty, it was hidden beneath a thick veneer of banality.

Oh yes, for certain, their witches liked to pretty themselves up, more so now that they had other
prospects other than their own British wizards to entertain, but that was to be expected. Why had
their boys not done the same as their girls? Had they cared nothing for all the foreign witches that
might come to Hogwarts? Whatever their reasons, it frustrated her.

"Easy there now, who ruffled your feathers so much?"

Fleur turned her head slightly to the left, before she replied, bristled, "No one, and that is the
problem," in the same low tone.

Her brunette friend instantly started sporting a grin, pearly white, even teeth in full display, while
her green eyes glimmered with mischief... and more. "Oooh, Fleur, is that pent up passion I hear in
your tight tone?" She had wicked things on her mind.

To reply to that, Fleur leaned closer to her friend, mouth to ear. "Do not tempt me, or I will have
your hide later on."

Amy's breathing grew a tad more labored as she resisted the urge to lean her cheek against Fleur's.
"And who is to say that I would not enjoy it?" Her reply tickled Fleur's earlobe and the French
witch subdued a growl in her throat that threatened to rise to the fore. Amy was always the more
adventurous of the two, but even she ought to restrain herself in front of so many.

"You would, you bitch," said Fleur before her teeth grazed against the shell of Amy's ear, a low
purr inflecting her words.

Amy's cheeks flushed with small tinges of red as she slowly backed away before a complete loss of
control happened. It was always that way, Fleur knew just what button to push, knew just the right
amount of Allure to apply, and Amy's underwear would always be slightly more damper than it
usually was in her presence. It wasn't a bad thing altogether, but usually she had Dannielle to help
her in teasing Fleur. Usually. Now though, Dannielle was busy pretending to be completely
ignorant of the English language and made one of the older Ravenclaw boys pantomime much of
what he was trying to say. An amusing sight perhaps, but not without purpose. Dannielle never did
anything solely for one reason alone. It would be a waste of her time.

"So," said Amy, "whom do you think the Goblet will choose?"

Fleur contemplated for a few moments. "For Durmstrang? Krum, definitely. Look at their
miserable lot. Most of the other students seem more like support structure, should the boy falter,
than competitors and I haven't heard of anyone else from Durmstrang, other than him, submitting
their name into the Goblet." She'd heard the stories, many others had as well, about how the boy's
talent wasn't solely in Quidditch. After all, Durmstrang did incorporate the Dark Arts in their
curriculum. Who knew what secret talents and skills the perpetually scowling Bulgarian Seeker
kept close to his chest?

"And Hogwarts?"

Fleur shrugged, taking a few widely cast glances at all four of the tables in the Great Hall. "Who
knows? None of them exactly stand out. I can't recall hearing about any prodigious student from
Hogwarts in all my years at Beauxbatons. Do you?"

Amy almost shook her head in reply, but then remembered something. "Say, doesn't that boy go to
Hogwarts?"

Fleur was confused. "What boy?"

Amy came closer to Fleur, as though to whisper of some nefarious undertaking. "You know, Harry
Potter."

"Isn't he a bit too young for Hogwarts?"

Amy did shake her head now. "No, I think he's here now. Not sure what year he'd be in though. We
could always ask."

This time it was Fleur that shook her head in response. "No reason to do so though, he would be
just a little boy, and most likely his fame is exaggerated by the Ministry and the Hogwarts
headmaster for their own gain. Leave it be."

"Fine," said Amy, thought a bit insincerely. Fleur might not have cared for gossip all that much,
but Amy gloried in it. Who knows, maybe the famous Boy-Who-Lived would be something she
could distract herself with while Fleur brooded and sulked when she had her name drawn from the
Goblet. And that was going to happen, Amy had no doubt about it. She might have went on to poke
a bit more at Fleur for fun, to divert her from thinking too much, but Dannielle chose that moment
to arrive to the rescue, not caring in the least as she shoved several Beauxbatons students to make
room for herself at Fleur's side.

"Took you long enough. Had your fun, Danni?" Fleur inquired.

"Yes, fun indeed," said Dannielle as she bit her lower lip for a moment, sky-blue eyes glinting.

"No," Amy mock-scolded her, even as she tried to contain her laughter, "tell me you didn't."

Dannielle pretended to be offended and thew a good portion of her red hair behind her back, rather
than let it obscure her face. "Don't be silly, of course I didn't." Her smile had turned positively
feline. "Well, not yet, at least. He seemed keen on making a fool of himself, so who knows... he
might be game."

Fleur restrained herself from saying anything for the moment, not wanting the exchange of words
with vague meanings between her two friends to end, not wanting to bring the spotlight back to her,
just as this Tri-Wizard Tournament surely would end up doing eventually. And what would she do
then? How would she go about satiating her own hunger and needs when everyone would be
stalking her every move? It would be near impossible, and though she did like her fair share of
challenges, that might prove a bit too much. Her reliance on Amy and Danni could help her only so
much and though they each had their own rooms in the Beauxbatons carriage, it still wasn't
uncommon for anyone to try and take a gander inside of them while occupied. Someone learning
the specifics of the friendship shared between the three witches was not a desirable outcome.

And oh how they would react if they knew... would it be with scorn? Or envy? In truth, she'd
prefer the former. The latter might spur them on to have a go for any of the three witches, and since
the attempt would assuredly end in failure, word would spread of what they did, if only from
misguided malice's sake. That was the last thing they needed.

Bah, those thoughts only distracted her further and further. She shook them off with an internal
shake of her head and focused back on listening to the chatter and murmur in the Great Hall. Her
mind took in the fact that the plates with food and glasses with beverage had all vanished from the
tables in the Great Hall. Dumbledore himself had risen from his seat at the staff table and soon
stood at the Goblet of Fire. He went on about how soon enough the champions would be chosen
and if everyone would stay quiet. Fat chance of that, Fleur thought to herself.

The Great Hall descended into semi-darkness. With one sweep of his wand, Dumbledore had
extinguished the candles and lanterns and all those carved pumpkin-lights, the only strong source
of light being the Goblet's blue flames.

And then it happened.

The flames turned red, sparks shot from the edges of the Goblet and a charred piece of parchment
fluttered out of it.

With reflexes bellying his age, Dumbledore caught it in mid-air and held it arm's length, so as to
read it by the light of flames.

"The Champion for Durmstrang," his voice echoed clearly across the vastness of the hall, "will be
Viktor Krum!"

Predictable. Fleur rolled her eyes and both Amy and Danni hid their smiles behind their hands as
the applause from the Durmstrang students, and the Slytherin table, roared like a storm. The bulky
Bulgarian Seeker still scowled, as though he had found a Flobberworm in his drink and was not
actually chosen for the tournament.

Perhaps he was more similar, in certain ways, to Fleur than she initially thought?

The elderly wizard directed the Durmstrang champion to the door behind the staff table and soon
enough the applause lessened, the flames lining the edge of the Goblet turning red once more,
expelling yet another charred piece of parchment.

Even before the old man said it, she knew it. Knew it in her bones. Knew it in her magic.
"The Champion for Beauxbatons," said Dumbledore, voice still as strong, "is Fleur Delacour!"

Of course they cheered. Everyone cheered. The boys more so than the girls. Well, not all the girls
at least. She knew Amy and Dannielle were sincere in their cheer for her, whereas the others... She
resisted looking around to see who among the students of her school had just burst into sobbing, it
was pathetic enough as it was. After all, she had an image to maintain. Grace, elegance. One-two-
three step, one-two-three step, smile, bow your head and out the Hall and through the door.

All noise from the outside vanished once she closed the door behind her.

Inside the room, the Durmstrang champion was almost as still as a statue, still scowling, standing
by the only fireplace in the room, his features illuminated, and made more harsher, by the flames'
light. He paid no heed to her entry save for a single glance in her direction. She gladly repaid the
favor. The less time spent with the brute of a boy, the better. Only the matter of the Hogwarts
champion remained before she could set off to the Beauxbatons carriage and the comfort of her
own room.

By the time the door opened anew, she was sitting down in one of the more gaudier, yet
comfortable, looking back-chairs.

The Hogwarts champion was... disappointing. As she predicted, yet again. Save for some slight
differentiation in the colors on the trim of his robes, and the badge upon his chest, he really didn't
stand out all that much from the rest. Maybe, just maybe, had she been the type of witch that ogled
and drooled after this type, she might have considered him somewhat handsome.

But the grin that came to his face upon seeing Fleur and Krum came too easily, too sincere, and she
loathed him for it. He also settled near the fire, though unlike Krum who leaned onto the
mantelpiece, he stood a bit of a distance away, his hands behind his back. He gave Fleur yet
another smile, and she saw a bit of that familiar glaze come over his eyes before he shook it off.

Pathetic.

Well, at least the competition wouldn't be much, though she'd have more cause to watch out for
Krum than this other boy.

Just when her thoughts were going to turn towards the judges and when they were going to make
an appearance, the doors opened again, but the one who entered was not a judge, as she hoped. In
came another boy, smaller than the rest. She gave him a furtive glance, taking note of his glasses,
the messy hair and the awkward way he shuffled deeper into the room.

She got up from her chair and stepped closer to the boy, reluctance in his posture clear to see. He
seemed vaguely familiar.

Fleur looked back at the other two champions and saw them standing still, perfectly content to let
the boy linger in the room.

"What is it?" Fleur asked, in English. Her accent was unfortunately thick, having learned English
with a number of variable Linguistics Charms, but she could do little about it right now to correct
it. "Do zey want want us back in the Hall?"

But before the boy could answer, the door opened yet again. This time it was a judge indeed. He,
she could not recall his name, grabbed the boy by his arm and led him forward towards her and the
other champions, mumbling something from excitement. When he came to in front of the three of
them, who were facing the man fully now, he released the boy.
"Incredible! Absolutely extraordinary! Gentlemen, lady," he tipped his head slightly in Fleur's
direction, "may I introduce - however unexpected and unlikely it may be - the fourth Tri-Wizard
champion!"

No applause welcomed that proclamation. Krum's face darkened, turning from brooding to
scowling yet again. The Hogwarts champion seemed nonplussed by the judge's statement, while
Fleur... well, she smiled. What else could she do?

"Oh vairy funny joke, Meester..."

"Bagman, Ludo Bagman, Miss Delacour."

"Meester Bagman," she flashed her pearly whites in a smile.

"I can assure you, this is no joke, my dear lady. Harry's name had come out of the Goblet of Fire
just moments ago!"

All three of the champions turned their gazes fully towards the boy now. Fleur's alone would have
scorched the ground if it could have done so without the aid of a wand or her Veela heritage. She
quickly took stock of the boy and with no small amount of contempt said, "But evidently zair ’as
been a mistake, 'e cannot compete. 'e is too young."

“Well … it is amazing,” said Bagman. “But, as you know, the age restriction was only imposed
this year as an extra safety measure. And as his name’s come out of the goblet … I mean, I don’t
think there can be any ducking out at this stage. … It’s down in the rules, you’re obliged … Harry
will just have to do the best he —"

The other judges stormed into the room, along with one other, very ugly looking, man with a big
hooked nose and greasy hair.

Fleur's skin crawled at the sight of him, and it didn't help ease the outrage she felt at the moment.
A fourth Tri-Wizard champion? Must they make a mockery of a tournament that she was dragged
across the sea for? A tournament in which she wanted no part whatsoever but was forced to
participate all the same? No, she would not allow it.

She strode immediately towards her headmistress. "Madame Maxime!" said Fleur, still in English,
still with that abominable accent. "Zey are saying zat zis little boy is to compete also!"

From then on, it descended into a small conflagration of chaos. Accusations flew, accusations of
incompetence thrown at the Hogwarts headmaster, accuastion quelled in the next moment, then
some more suspicions thrown out from the ugly man at the boy, and so on. It might have gone on
past morning had the boy not acted out.

"I didn't do it!" He turned towards his headmaster. "Professor Dumbledore, I swear I didn't put my
name in the Goblet."

Whereas the others might have pressed on to make the boy crack under the weight of accusations,
the elderly wizard went for a calmer approach, and laid a hand against his shoulder. He then went
on to ask the boy, calmly, about how his name might have ended up in the Goblet, let alone how it
had been drawn out as the fourth champion. The boy kept protesting, saying he wanted no part of
the tournament. A bold-faced lie, no doubt.

In the meantime, while the impromptu interrogation was ongoing, another man joined them. If she
thought that the greasy-haired man was ugly, then this one was positively hideous with his scarred
face, gouges everywhere, a fake eye, a fake leg by the looks of it as well and Morgana-knows-only
how many other deformities that they couldn't see beneath his robes.

He too joined in the interrogation and kept bringing up a point how the boy hadn't had a chance to
complain about anything, and despite everything, despite Fleur herself loathing having to
participate, she loathed that others, others who were lesser than her, would pretend that they
wanted nothing of greatness or fame.

In a burst of words, a foot stamping down on the ground, Fleur said, "Why should ’e complain? ’e
’as ze chance to compete, ’asn’t ’e? We ’ave all been ’oping to be chosen for weeks and weeks!" A
lie, but fitting at the moment, one she had no second thought about uttering. "Ze honor for our
schools! A thousand Galleons in prize money — zis is a chance many would die for!"

"Maybe someone’s hoping Potter is going to die for it," the scarred man growled out.

And then it clicked for her.

Bagman had called him 'Harry' when he first brought him to the other champions. And this man
called him 'Potter'.

Fleur once more took stock of the boy. Little she called him, and little he was, but then again there
seemed to be a number of years of differences between them. He almost seemed on the verge of
being afraid, yet refused to show it, his face morphing from irritation to relief to anger, depending
on who spoke and what they spoke of. The last of which, anger, showed only in the eyes, which
were so very green and bright in the fire's light, and only when those eyes looked upon her. It also
revealed to her why he'd seemed familiar when he entered the room first: he had been the same boy
from whom she took the bouillabaisse.

Fleur almost smirked at the boy, the need to taunt him growing within, to see how he would deal
with being humiliated.

She could almost taste it on the tip of her tongue, the little boy's rage, a flame in his gut. It was
building up, slowly, but surely.

Right when she opened her mouth to insult the boy yet again, to see the ember of anger spark
anew, it all came to an end.

The boy would compete, the judges said, no matter how unwilling he may seem to be.

And Fleur thought that maybe, just maybe, this year at Hogwarts wouldn't entirely be a waste.

After the matter of the fourth champion had been dealt with, Fleur had gone back to the Ravenclaw
table, collected her friends and they retreated back to the Beauxbatons carriage and the privacy of
Fleur's room. While Amy and Danni lounged on the bed, lying on their backs, opposite one
another, Fleur was very carefully divesting herself of the powder-blue robes, the scarf, the hat, and
all the underwear she wore underneath the robes.

"Go on, what was he like?"

"What was who like?"

Fleur moved to the left of the mirror, the pillow flying through the air missing her by a narrow
margin.

"Don't be such a tease, you know who: Harry Potter."

"He is just a little boy, Amy. I don't know what you're really expecting me to say here. I've barely
looked at him."

"Liar," said Dannielle.

It felt good to push all of that fabric away from her skin, giving it room and air to breathe properly.
That and she did take a bit of pleasure from strutting around in her birthday suit. Then again, why
wouldn't she? She had plenty to admire, from her teardrop-shaped, hand-filling breasts, the perked
up pink nipples laying on top of them, her flat and tight tummy, the curve of her hips, the firmness
of her derrière, the smoothness of the mound between her legs... everything was just perfect.

And here, in this private sanctum of hers, she could finally let loose.

Amy and Danielle felt it keenly, as they did so many times before. The Allure washed over them,
reinvigorated them with energy, energy better spent in ways other than lazying about on the bed.
They too soon joined Fleur in her choice of dressing.

Though both of them would be called beautiful by any boy or man who saw them, they knew they
would never compare to Fleur. Her beauty, her grace, the sheer etherealness of her presence, would
always elevate her above the crowds. As it should be. But among the more common rabble, among
those who were not like Fleur? They were stunning.

Dannielle's breasts were not at all like Fleur's. They were bigger, for one, and while for now they
still defied that wretched enemy of women everywhere - gravity itself - one day they would sag;
though that is not to say magic could not undo its effects. Should someone's hand come to lay
against the whole of one of Danni's breasts much of it would overflow between fingers, and weigh
the hand down. Of the three French witches, she was the one most blessed with the curves of
womanhood.

Her behind matched her breasts in equal proportion, and it too was without any sag to it
whatsoever. Boys had begged to be given the chance to dive in between those cheeks of hers and
kiss and lick and do whatever else they might be commanded. But unlike Fleur, Danni was not
quite so smooth, and a small bush of fiery red hair rested atop of her own mound, above the puffy
flesh of her labia, already dripping drops of arousal unto the carpet that covered the room's entire
floor.

Amy... well, Amy was Amy. She was more alike Fleur in body type than Danni, but in all else? If
the trio of witches had a center for all things perverse, it would be Amy. It was her who first
initiated things with Fleur, back when they had just been acquaintances, just 'Hello, how do you
do?' in the hallways of Beauxbatons, right up until Amy had pressed Fleur against a wall, her lips
bearing down on Fleur's, while her knee went between her legs, rubbing the Veela's mound in slow
motion. The dominance play did not last long on Amy's part, and she found herself in the reverse
position, with Fleur taking out all of her frustration out in bursts of rage, bursts of passion and hate
and sweat and tears and the sweet, sweet nectar between their legs. It was Amy who drew in Danni
to them, having already seen her beforehand with a boy or two in one of the unusued classrooms,
and what she bid them do for her, having grown aroused by the sight of a witch dominating a
wizard so easily.

From the both of them, Fleur had learned her trade.

Fleur closed her eyes and sighed in anticipation as one hand wrapped itself, from behind, around
her right breast. A moment later, she felt wet lips on the back of her neck, while another hand
glided down the trail of her spine, until it cupped her ass.

"Sluts," she growled out, turning her head to the side, her own hand pressing against the back of
Danni's head as she kissed the red-haired witch's plump lips. Little moans and gasps escaped Danni
as Fleur's tongue dove in between her lips. Amy kept busy as well, of course, having sunk down to
her knees, almost sandwiched between the two lower halfs of the witches. She took great delight in
teasing them with her tongue, teeth grazing just barely against their clits, hands kneading their
fleshy behinds.

But one hand moved away eventually and with a murmur against Fleur's now sopping mound, a
wand of twelve inches slipped into her waiting palm. She quickly brought it to her mouth and
muttered a rather nifty little charm, before she let the wand fall down to the floor, and watched as
her tongue grew longer, covered with bumps. When the charm had done its work, Amy didn't
hesitate in the slightest and fully turned onto Fleur, her seven-inch tongue diving in between the
Veela's lower lips, nose rubbing against her clit, both hands now on her delectable derrière, even as
Fleur's hand came to rest on the back of her head, pushing her enlarged tongue even further into her
dripping pussy. Each bump in the organ brought tremors to her knees, but Danni's arms had
encircled Fleur around her waist and kept her upright, while slowly moving towards the bed.

By the time all three had stumbled onto the bed, Fleur's thighs wrapped around Amy's head while
Danni was trailing kisses down her neck, down her collarbone, moist mouth suckling on her
breasts, she was already aflame, and the more Amy's tongue whirled around her insides, the hotter
her body had become, until naught but the flame remained and Fleur was gone.

Amy's head managed to pull out from Fleur's thigh-grip, her hair, no longer in a ponytail, cascading
in front of her face. She settled on top of Fleur, holding her down by the legs, while Danni kept her
arms subdued on the side, just barely, as Fleur trashed beneath their hold on her. Amy managed to
finally cancel the charm on her tongue, though she left the traces of Fleur's juices untouched,
uncleaned from her mouth and chin. The scent alone would help calm her, keep harm at bay.

The skin on Fleur's face tightened, her nose grew longer, turned sharper, the light hair on her arms
multiplied and thickened until it became something more than mere human hair. All of it, all of her
body, turning from extraordinary human beauty to the very image of inhuman cruelty and malice
and want and lust. The creature beneath them no longer spoke in elegant French. It shrieked instead
and they knew what it wanted, what it craved and demanded, what it had come out to the fore for.
Reluctantly, like so many times before, they let go of Fleur and the tables were swiftly turned. No
longer did Amy press herself against Fleur, no longer was Danni allowed to kiss and suckle upon
her skin. The Veela had come for its due.

Fortunately for the three of them, they had warded the room with privacy charms beforehand.

It would have been awkward if anyone had chanced upon them to find out the source of those
screams.

Amy loved the pain. Dannielle loved the pleasure.

And Fleur loved it all.

Morning came, eventually, sunrise's bleak sunlight spilling into the room through one of the
enchanted windows.

Atop the large bed laid three witches, completely in the nude, bodies intertwined, remnants of
fluids on their bodies reflecting the light. One of the three sleepyheads eventually stirred awake
from slumber, though she refused to be the first one out of bed, and instead chose to nuzzle into the
crook of her friend's neck, tickling the skin of it with her measured breaths. It didn't take long
before the recipient of the tickling awoke as well, mumbling her displeasure, even as she pulled her
friend closer in.

"Bitch," she muttered affectionately, her hand moving across her friend's bared skin, enjoying the
sight with more than just eyes. Every now and again she'd come across scratches, some deeper
than others, but felt no shame from it. Indeed, a part of her being thrilled at the texture, the depth
and the taste of those markings, glad that her friend bore them so well.

Amy chose her response well and raised her head up from Fleur's neck to kiss her on the lips and
whisper a simple, "Good morning to you too, oh great insatiable one." And there it was, that
pleased gleam in Fleur's midnight-blue eyes.

"Was I too much on you?" Fleur asked, her hand still roaming across Amy's body, until it settled
for resting between her legs, tending to the inflamed looking labia that was covered in a sticky
mess of its own.

Her friend smiled. "Don't be silly, there is no such thing as too much of you, Fleur." She started
rubbing her legs around Fleur's hand as her fingers caressed her pussy, gently. "And I rather enjoy
the rawness of it. Makes me feel all the more wicked."

"Harlots," said Danni teasingly, her head rising from the pillow as she looked over Fleur's shoulder
and into Amy's face.

"Hello to you too," said Fleur. She turned fully on her back and took to placing a few good-
morning kisses on Danni's mouth.

The red-haired witch gave out a few hummed moans, and would have gladly enjoyed Fleur's
attention for significantly more time, if there hadn't been a sudden knocking on her door. Lazily
waving one hand at the door, Fleur dispelled one of the privacy wards, while the other hand
remained nestled between's Amy's legs, stirring the honey-pot with her fingers.

"Yes?" she called out with a smile on her face. Amy had bitten into Fleur's shoulder to hide her
moans.

"Fleur," came the voice of Madame Maxime, "it's time to get up, you silly girl. We have things to
do for today."

"Now, Madame Maxime?"

Two fingers plunged deep, crooking and curling within as Amy's cheeks bloomed bloody-red.

"In three hours. Be ready, my dear," said Maxime before she walked away from the door.

Only when no sound reached from the outside did Fleur reapply the spell and Amy let go of her
shoulder, moaning out loud. She rode Fleur's fingers, while rubbing herself against her wrist as
well, for a while until her whole body trembled, giving wave upon wave of sickly sweet discharge
from her slit and into Fleur's waiting hand. She closed her eyes, sweaty hair matted to the sides of
her head, breathing in and out very slowly. Amy was no fool though, she knew what was coming,
Fleur was not quite done with her yet. And just like that, she was proven right, when fingers started
poking at her mouth, prodding it open until Amy parted her lips and cum-slick digits found
themselves resting on Amy's tongue as she cleaned them, one by one.

"Good girl," said Fleur with praise before she took her now-clean fingers from Amy's mouth and
gave her a tongue-filling kiss.

Danni groaned, the sight was almost too much for her, but she would not herself fall into this trap.
She would not be the last one to head for the shower, which was Fleur's plan all along. After all,
she'd done it a number of times before. Dannielle quickly scooted out of the bed, still nude, and left
the two to further indulge in their morning passions, while she on the other hand had every
intention of claiming the shower and cleaning herself up, a bit of a daunting task considering what
Fleur had been up to throughout the night. The thought amused her and then she let loose the near-
scalding water from the showerhead.

In about half an hour she was done, and just in time it seemed, as Fleur started making her own
way to the bathroom. She gave Dannielle a light smack on her ass as she passed her by, a teasing
smile on her face.

"Thank you," said Fleur appreciatively.

Dannielle felt wrongfooted for a moment. She stood still in the doorway, just a towel wrapped
around her body, and blinked rather like an owl, in confusion. "For what?"

Fleur took her hand with two of her own, brought it up to her mouth and kissed it lightly. "For not
asking too much, too soon."

Understanding slowly dawned on Danni and she nodded her head in recognition of that. "I know
you, Fleur, you'll move at your own pace, and you'll tell us when you're ready. Besides," she
smirked, "I could see that talking was the farthest thing on your mind last night, and it's not like I
minded, did I?"

"You most certainly didn't," said Fleur, smiling. She let Danni's hand go and went towards the
shower cabin.

As the droplets of water started gently hitting her skin, she mused on how much she was going to
enjoy the thrill of the hunt.

She'd have to be patient, sly and restrained, and while the first two certainly didn't bother her,
restraint was an unpleasant thought, an alien concept to the Veela, but all the same, she'd restrain
herself. Good things come to those who wait.

After all, taking Harry Potter, and molding him in accordance to her desires, would be quite the
task.

Four weeks after she set her mind in motion, Fleur finally had the chance she waited for so
patiently.

The first two weeks she, with the help of Amy and Danni, had spent finding out as much as she
could about the, seemingly, introverted and mysterious Harry Potter. Fourth-year Gryffindor, the
Boy-Who-Lived, a Parselmouth, and many other things if one were to believe the gossip that
spread around the school about his deeds. Of course, at the moment all those deeds and misdeeds
of his were looked at in a harsh light. Fleur had found out through a few of the chattier Ravenclaws
that Harry Potter was currently being shunned by all of the Houses save his own, which heralded
him as their champion, due to a belief that he had cheated his way into the tournament solely to
garner more attention, to remain in the spotlight.

He was mocked, derided, ostracized and occasionally almost bullied, though the would-be bullies
shied away from committing.
Fleur could have laughed in their faces, and laughed she did in the privacy of her room as Amy and
Dannielle kept bringing her tidbits of information about the boy, because the truth was quite
obvious: he did not enter himself in the tournament neither willingly nor knowingly. One only had
to look at him, look at how he hated being the center of attention, how few friends he had, how so
very uncomfortable he was when so many looked upon him, and they would know it.

Jealous fools.

What amazed Fleur is how little the boy responded in turn to all those accusations and harsh
words, and how rather than confronting the crowd, he shied away from it. It amazed her because it
suited her plans oh so very much. An insular boy, one who had only made two friends in all his
years so far at Hogwarts, would not be prone to any sort of bragging or rumor-spreading that any
other wizard his age might be inclined to. It guaranteed privacy. Fleur was pleased by that.

What pleased her even more was that those two friends of his seemed to have been keeping their
distance from him. Apparently, not even they were sure about how he was entered into the
tournament, despite their years-long friendship, and that created some friction. Most of it seemed to
stem from the red-headed, freckle-faced gangly looking boy, rather than the bushy-haired, plain-
faced muggleborn witch, but in the end it didn't matter. All alone, on his own, he was the perfect
prey.

But that did not mean Harry Potter was weak or stupid or cowardly.

The First Task proved as much. Outflying a dragon on a broom! Who in their sane mind would
attempt it? Dragons were creatures of fire and magic and air, much like Veelas, albeit on a larger
scale, and their size did little to hamper them in speed.

Fleur only wished she could have seen it with her own eyes, rather than watch it on the
omniocular's replay vision, but she had some minor singes from dragon-fire that needed tending,
and the medi-witch seemed intent on keeping her confined.

How full of surprises you are, Harry Potter. How wonderful. How will you act, I wonder, once
bereft your delusions of self-control?

Her hunger for the boy-wizard only grew, and she took to satiating herself on Amy and Danni as
much as possible, but even they could not help stave away the ferocious beast within, the Veela
that she was. More and more effort it took with every day to keep herself subdued, to not simply
blaze her path through the Great Hall, grab him by the collar and take him then and there, for all to
see, for all to witness and acknowledge that Harry Potter was to be solely her property. For the
year, at least.

Unfortunately, his naked vulnerability was not long-lasting, and his friends rejoined him after the
First Task, no doubt flinging frivolous excuses as to why they shunned him in the first place. It was
no longer quite the fissure she hoped to exploit, but the cracks could be widened sufficiently, if
enough pressure was applied, if she only found something to grab hold of.

A week passed after the First Task and it was a frenzy. Witches and wizards alike prowled in
groups, occasionally one of them separating from the herd in order to try and ask someone for the
honor of being their date at the Yule Ball. To Fleur it was quite boring, repetitive in fact. Before
that first week was out, she had been asked by no less than fifteen different boys, from all of the
Houses of Hogwarts, and even one or two from Durmstrang. She received no offers from the
Beauxbatons boys, after all, they knew better than to try and approach la reine des garces, as they
liked to call her, so haughty and aloof in her arrogance, who'd eagerly take to refusing them in
public and humiliating them in return. They'd learned well, over the past seven years.
And as that fourth week after the First Task was ending, the Yule Ball just eleven days away, Fate
accommodated Fleur.

In truth, she'd been pondering on Danni's proposal, whether to subtly prompt one of the Ravenclaw
students to ask her to the ball, before the three of them took him back to their carriage, and had their
way with him. After all, what boy, and that's what they all were no matter their age or appearance,
would refuse the attention of three beautiful witches?

Roger Davies. I do wonder how eager you'll be to skulk closer to us once we had our fun with you.

Fleur graced the boy with a vague smile every now and again, the notion almost fully gestated.
The boy only needed to be barely grazed by the Allure and he'd be merrily dancing to whatever
tune Fleur played. While he was certainly not up to her usual tastes in wizards, he'd do as a
diversion, and perhaps, even serve as another way to lure Harry Potter to her clutches.

She'd been thinking about that for quite some time, on how to make an approach without revealing
it was her approaching him, while she was wandering around Hogwarts, on her own, only to sense
someone following her. For the span of a single moment, her features twisted in an ugly expression,
sneer and scorn combined, as Fleur considered who might be the latest fool whose advances she'd
rebuff, and whether she might lead him back to a more populated area where she would hit him
with the near full strength of the Allure and watch him make a fool of himself while vying for her
affections.

Only that single flash of green, a glance stolen from the corner of her eye, stayed her from this
course.

A green of the eyes, hidden behind the metallic frame of glasses, beneath the mess of his black
hair.

Oh this is just too perfect. Now why would Harry Potter be following me?

She pretended not to see him, but she did slow the pace of her walk, feigning interest in paintings
and portraits she passed by. If she guessed right she was nearing the seventh floor, provided the
moving staircases had not deposited her somewhere entirely else; the damnable thing seemed to
have a will of its own, and cared nothing for the intent of those that walked upon it. Fleur wet her
lips with the tip of her tongue, a small flutter of anticipation tingling in her belly, more so for the
fact that they were the only two in the long hallway, without any other to witness what might or
might not happen between them.

That particular thought sent a surge of excitement right to that special place of hers, where the
Veela slumbered.

Fleur turned on the spot, face framed in feigned confusion and worry.

"Is somezzing ze matter, 'arry Potter?" said Fleur.

She watched him take a deep breath, and almost start to visibly shake his head as she subtly plied
him with the Allure, rather enjoying the sight of the almost-glaze on his eyes, before he managed
to throw it off. Surprising, but not uncommon.

It will be such fun to break him.

"Miss Delacour, I wanted to ask you if you would accompany me to the Yule Ball?"

Now it was Fleur's turn to feel slightly stunned. Whatever she might have been expecting, this was
not it. After all, he'd been fairly unsubtle in his pining for an Asian witch that sat at the Ravenclaw
table, and so she had not once thought to entertain the idea that the Yule Ball would be a good
approach for her, as Harry Potter had become accepted once more, or rather craved, by the majority
of Hogwarts students after the tribulation of the First Task. Besting a dragon was no small matter.
Others wanted to share in the glory and fame once it was reaffirmed in their eyes as something
solely of his own doing.

Fleur's honest expression of confusion turned to a phantom of a smile, almost there but not quite.

"You ask zis now," said Fleur, "less zan two weeks before ze ball? Meester Potter, you are being
prezumptious."

He swallowed a small lump, borne of hesitation and... and... was that anger in his eyes again that
she saw?

"I haven't heard anything about you accepting anyone's proposition, so I thought I might as well
ask."

False bravado. Reassuring himself, covering up for his weak approach. It avails you nothing, boy.

"And why would I, Meester Potter, accept your proposition, even if I didn't accept another's? You
are but a little boy," there, that anger resurfacing before he burried it beneath, but not well enough,
"and zere is little incentive for me to accept. Not to mention," Fleur grinned internally, "I sinzerely
doubt zat I am your first choice, not after two weeks 'ad passed since the ball was announzed in ze
Great 'all. So why should I play second fiddle to a little boy's wants and whimz?"

He was not an expert in concealing his emotions, and the mask he'd just barely donned on had
shattered into thousands upon thousands of little pieces, as a glacial sort of fury radiated outwards
from his face. But he did not lash out at her, there's that.

Harry Potter steeled his jaw before letting it loose to speak in a, more or less, admiring tone.
"Because you are beautiful."

At that, Fleur raised an eyebrow and waited for more to follow, but none came. She sighed and
shook her head. "You tell me nuzzing new, 'arry Potter. No more zan any mirror would, at any time
of ze day or night." She turned away from him, unguarded back and unconcerned for any sort of
possible reprisal, and took a single step.

All or nothing, make your play, Harry Potter. All or nothing, all the same, you cannot best me at
the game I've played all my life.

He'd almost shouted out the words, "Because you'd make them envious, because... because you'd
make her jealous!"

There we go.

Before she turned once more towards him, Fleur's face bore a rather predatory smile: the smile of a
knife before plunging down into an unprotected heart, the smile of a shark before ripping apart
flesh, the smile of all women before toying with a man.

So simple really. For all his fame, for all the deeds ascribed, valorous or otherwise, Harry Potter
was very much just a boy.

She was passive, but inviting when she turned her head around and inclined it towards him,
indicating he should follow.
In truth, she had no idea where they were, whether there would be some sort room they could
conveniently use, but she had no intention of stopping and asking him for directions. No reason to
let him think he was in control, and the sooner he grew accustomed to giving her the reigns, the
sooner Fleur would have him do as she bid. He would come to beg her for all of it.

A room they did find, an abandoned classroom, just like she hoped to come across, and in they
went, first little Harry and then Fleur, who twirled her wand this and that-a way, murmuring
incantations in the cadence and power of old, dead tongues, insuring none would come across them
by accident or design, not until Fleur had her hunger satisfied, one way or another.

Harry had settled against one of the desks, not quite sitting, not quite standing. Perhaps he resented
the difference in height, having to look up to her face, into her eyes, and sitting would only bring it
to the fore? Who knew? Perhaps Fleur overthought matters. Perhaps his fourteen-year-old mind
did not even contemplate these things.

"Make who jealous, 'arry Potter?" she asked as though she didn't already know the answer. The
question she had all but uttered in a pleased purr, but he did not notice. No doubt, he was trying to
find a way not to embarass himself any further.

He wet his lips unconsciously before answering, "Cho Chang. She's a Ravenclaw student and...
and..."

Fleur nodded. "But why make 'er jealous, 'arry Potter? Why give a damn at all about 'er? You
spoke of envy as well."

His sigh carried such weight to it, she thought he might deflate and crumble to the floor.
"Everyone," he closed his eyes, "every single damn one of them look at me like I'm some sort of
circus attraction, a monkey to play at their whim. I thought it'd be different, being in the wizarding
world, but it's really not, it's the same it was with muggles, just magic sprinkled on top." He lifted
his lids and she looked on those emerald-green orbs, weary and old. "I ask, I ask just for one damn
year to be uncomplicated, just one year, and Voldemort's not even around anymore, and it still
doesn't matter. It all keeps repeating itself and I'm still seen as a puppet on a string, to be fiddled
and played with for everyone's amusement." He pressed his lips together, and they thinned.
Frustration perhaps? "You were right, you know. Second choice, I mean. You were. I mean, it's not
that you're not beautiful, you are, it's just.. this one girl, that was all and when I asked her out to the
ball she just had this sad smile, and I knew there was a laugh behind it as well, before Diggory
swooped in and they shared the joke in a whisper."

Ah, to be so young again. So foolish and naive. Well, at least that's what others were like, Fleur
assumed. She'd never been any of those things, for that was not her way. Never had she confided in
complete strangers, but then again she had never been as isolated, voluntarily or otherwise, as he
was. When she wanted something, or someone, she took it into her hands to acquire, to snatch and
steal, if need be, to hold in her grasp and play for as long as her interest held sway. Harry Potter
was to be such a toy, for her to wind up, and watch him dance all the same, but a tune unlike any
other would accompany his motions.

You will make such beautiful moans .

"Zat," said Fleur, "is a razzer intense bundle of emotions, 'arry Potter. And while I'm flattered by
your confidence in me that I would not spread ze tale of it around," only then she saw panic come
briefly to his face as the realization to whom he spoke sank in, "all ze same, it does not give me a
single reason as to why I should accept your proposal."

Harry did deflate then, his shoulders sagged, eyes cast down, and his posture leaned more heavily
on the desk behind him.

Come now, you stupid boy. Ask it. You know what you must ask, so don't bother delaying it. I shall
wring it from you all the same.

Minutes passed, in absolute silence. Not a sound was heard, not even their breathing. Fleur willed
him hear her thoughts.

Eventually, his eyes rose from the floor, brilliant green against the backdrop of sunset's light. His
mouth tightened. He frowned.

"What do you want?"

Fleur could have kissed the boy, but really, where was the fun in that?
 To be ravished by a Veela

That must be it. Of course, it was such a simple explanation for all of it.

I'm barking mad.

What else could have compelled him to act as he did? Thinking himself so bloody clever to go
after Delacour, scampering behind her beneath his invisibility cloak, tracking her movements with
the aid of the Marauder's Map, just waiting for an opportunity to talk in some semblance of
privacy. After all, he'd seen how readily the older girl dispensed with unwanted suitors, and how
sharp her tongue could be, while the sickly sweet smile adorned her face.

There was something deeply wrong about the witch, but her looks were the exact opposite of
wrong.

Once he'd had more than a few days to wallow in the bitterness of Cho's rejection, and her
subsequent conspiratorial giggling with Diggory, Harry had opted for asking the Beauxbatons
champion, because what could possibly go wrong, right?

At first, he had tried convincing himself he just wanted to prove to Ron that he could ask her out
and not drool all over himself, like Ron had nearly done, which earned him a significant amount of
talk from Hermione. Merlin, he loved his friends, he really did, even when they were senseless
idiots who doubted him in moments when he needed them most, but they really ought to have just
plain snogged each other and got it out of their systems, rather than getting out on all of the people
surrounding them.

Hermione's response to Ron's suggestion, that Harry ask Delacour to the ball, had been blunt, if
accurate up to a certain point.

"Don't be stupid, Ron, she's an awful, nasty girl, didn't you see how she rejected Collin? And
Seamus? And Dean?"

Harry winced at the remembrance of the first. The younger Gryffindor actually had one of the
milder rejections from Fleur Delacour's list of would-be companions for the Yule Ball, yet the boy
still refused to go outside the dorms for anything more than classes and meals. It's just that... Harry
didn't feel all that much sympathy for the muggleborn boy, Merlin knows he had a jinxable face.
That and Harry still vividly remembered being hounded across Hogwarts by him in his 2nd year,
when the Basilisk roamed the halls, back when he was still taunted with being the Heir of
Slytherin. Idiots, he couldn't help but think.

Still... things had gotten better since then. Professor Dumbledore had somehow managed to banish
Voldermot for good in the middle of Harry's third year, he had found out about having a godfather,
and he'd found he would never, ever have to go back to the Dursleys. That is, he'd never go back to
them after his fourth year. Sirius, having been proven innocent, was being treated for his extended
stay at Azkaban, and more for the mental health than the physical, the latter which was corrected
more or less with potions, poultices and just plain, proper food which wasn't ground down and
filtered into pure yellow slop.

So really, was it all that much to ask for just one, simple year where nothing happened, where he
was just one among the mass of students at Hogwarts? Just a boy, and not the Boy-Who-Lived? Of
course it was, how else would the wizarding world get its daily dosage of scandal and spectacle if
not through their favorite orphan?
Things had improved by a large margin after the First Task and both Hermione and Ron had all but
begged him to forgive them for ever doubting him, for making him go through it all alone when
they'd been together for all their previous adventures. Of course he'd forgiven them, how could he
not? They were the best of friends. He was just a tad irked that they thought the mishaps in his life
counted as adventures, but better that than nightmares, he supposed.

And then that incident with Cho. Honestly, he'd just gone to send off an owl to Sirius, asking him
for more stories about his Mum and Dad, and he'd come upon her, then and there, all smiles and
wrapped up in a blue-and-bronze scarf. Harry felt a rather distinctive churning in his gut, identical
to the one he felt when he saw her on Hogwarts Express that year, and he was fairly certain the
churning had little to do with indigestion. Probably. Who knows what they put in those Bertie
Botts?

He remembered, with clarity that only resentment could bring, how it all went down.

"Cho!" said Harry, fiercely proud he'd managed his voice not to break in half.

Cho on her part seemed amused by how eager he was at the sight of her. "Hello, Harry. Owling
someone?" Her eyes were so perfect in the darkened lighting of the owlery, and the smell of owl
droppings didn't even get to him. Her smile... so cute.

"Uhh, yeah," said Harry, sloppily avoiding stammering or just plain gawking at her. A burst of that
Gryffindor courage, and a small voice in the back of his head, that sounded a tad too like Sirius',
told him: 'Put up or get out.'

Once more Cho acted gracefully, and didn't say anything about his reluctance to speak. She just
had this odd look on her face.

"I was wondering," said Harry, without a single tremble in his voice, "you heard about the Yule
Ball, right?" She nodded and her smile grew wider, warming Harry all the way inside, in a way no
warming charm ever could. "I was just... wonderingifyoudliketogowithme."

Cho giggled. "Sorry, could you repeat that last bit?"

He drew his words out with more clarity this time. "I was just wondering... if you'd like to go with
me to the ball?"

And though she still smiled, it was not quite the same. It turned at the edges, almost towards a
frown. "Oh, I would, Harry, I really would, but..." she bit her bottom lip in a way that was
definitely not cute, but pleasing all the same, "Cedric already asked me out and I said 'yes'. Sorry,"
she ducked her head down, as though she had a reason to be ashamed.

"That's fine. Perfectly understandble. Early bird and all that." He smiled without really meaning to,
somewhat awkward in rejection.

"Sorry," said Cho one last time and went past him.

He might have gone on to bang his head against the wall if a certain snow-white owl hadn't
announced her approach with a hoot and landed on his shoulder. Hedwig started nuzzling herself
against Harry's cheek and his face broke into a grin.

"Well, I've always got you as a choice, don't I, Hedwig?" said Harry. "Wouldn't that be something,
eh, you and me twirling about the Hall? Merlin, dancing," Harry shook his head, "I am so utterly
fucked, aren't it?"
Hedwig seemed to have given it some thought before agreeing with him with a single hoot.

"Right then, I've got a letter for you here, girl. You up for a bit of travel to London?" He pulled the
envelope from the pocket of his winter-robes and presented it for her to observe. "It's for Sirius."
Hedwig puffed out her chest in response, as though insulted by his question, but soon she calmed
down, took the envelope in one hand and nipped him on the ear good-naturedly before taking flight
against the starch-white sky.

His friend, his beloved companion, drove dark thoughts away with the beat of her wings.

He thought he handled his rejection by Cho Chang very well at the time. At least it was so, until he
saw her in the Great Hall, sitting at Cedric Diggory's side at the Hufflepuff table - of which all but
a few graced him with a unified glare - and then they both shared this positively saccharine
laughter, which he might have gone on to ignore if they hadn't turned to look at him just in passing
and those smiles on their faces spread. Cedric shrugged at Harry from a distance, as though to say
'Nice try, but not good enough,' and the worst part of it was that Cedric didn't mean it in a bad way.
He could have handled that. He really could have, he would not have sought out the French witch
and solicited her to accompany him to the Yule Ball, if only... if Cho had just kept her face away
from him, if she didn't giggle right into Cedric's ear, who threw him yet another look while
suppressing a grin from appearing on his face. Harry's stomach plummeted - it felt like a giant box
of lead had been dropped inside.

Laughing at him. Not that he hadn't experienced it before, before or even at Hogwarts, but
somehow this was different.

Somehow, this made him feel angry.

Angry like when that fat cow, Marge, insulted his parents, calling his mother a bitch with bad
blood.

Angry like when Sirius and Remus told of, and revealed, the real traitor in their midst.

Angry like the first time he realized the Mirror of Erised offered nothing real, no mother or father
he could ever hug.

It simmered, like a batch of poison that Snape always had over the flames, always hinting that that
day was going to be the day he would test Harry Potter's potion's skills and knowledge, to see
whether his antidotes would hold up to Snape's standards.

Angry in a way, he imagined, Voldemort once might have felt, before being banished to whatever
dismal afterlife awaited him.

I never should have told him about the dragons.

The thought came unbidden, with guilt and self-loathing following swiftly behind.

He quashed it. In that moment, in the Great Hall, when he bore witness to the callous cruelty of
mockery, he strangled the rage in its infancy, while at the same time keeping it in his fisted hands,
like one might hold a serpent at bay, but still in reach.

Where the hell did the idea to ask Fleur Delacour even come from? It's not like he failed to notice
just how beautiful she was when she first came with the rest of the Beauxbatons delegation, or
when she asked him for his portion of the French dish. It's just... it didn't matter then, did it? He'd
still been very much fixated on Cho and her brand of beauty. Well, so much for that anymore. He
no longer saw her quite as beautiful anymore, and he doubted she ever saw him as anything more
than an ickle fourth-year to joke about with her friends, whether he was in sight or not. Oh Merlin,
how the thought enraged him.

So what better way to show her, than to show up with most beautiful witch in all of Hogwarts?
What better way to flick Cedric's good-natured amusement right on its nose, than to show up with a
witch far more breath-taking than Cho could ever be?

Of course, that's where the plan had come to a bit of a snag really. How in the hell would she even
accept his invitation?

Sure, she did accept it in the end, and under her own very specific terms, but mustering the nerve to
ask her, finding the right time and place to do it, without chance of enhancing the humiliation he
already had experienced at the hand of Cho... tricky.

While he hadn't had the chance to see how she handled her dragon at the First Task, stories of it
sufficed, and both Ron and Hermione's retelling of every other champion had sort of ingrained
itself into his mind. He'd wondered, as he wandered throughout Hogwarts, what could he possibly
offer to entice the French champion, who'd bewitched a dragon to slumber?

He was right, of course, there was no way she would have fallen for simple praise, when she knew
it was her due; however arrogant she might have been about it, Fleur Delacour was also very right
in that assumption. So words of praise were just simply a no-go, but what else could he offer?
What could she ever possibly ever want? He'd asked her that, if framed a bit more bluntly, and
when her smile had turned genuine, a pleased gleam in her eyes, he felt a shiver go down his spine.

"For one, 'arry Potter, I want dancing," she had said.

"What?" Harry was completely wrongfooted by her seemingly all too easy given consideration.

"Dancing," she looked at him as though he was mentally impaired, before the smile returned full
blast and he felt that sweetness, mixed in with scent of lonely nights, tingle every single one of his
nerves. "You do know 'ow to dance, do you not?"

"I.. uhh..." said Harry, ever so eloquent. "No. Not really."

Fleur stepped up closer to him, seemingly taking measure of him in some way he didn't understand.
After a few moments, she sighed. "Vairy well zen, I shall be your tutor, and you will be an eager
pupil, won't you?" Her midnight-blue eyes bored into his emerald-green, like they were trying to
find a single shred of defiance and drown it before it cried out.

Befuddled as he was, he only managed to ask, "So that's a yes then? To my invitation?" without
really answering her.

She tilted her head slightly to the side. "Oui, 'arry Potter, that's a 'yes'." Fleur's lips curved into a
small smile, and he had to repress the urge to come closer and see if he could brush his mouth
against them. Another shiver crawled down his spine.

"Great!" said Harry smiling, with maybe just a spot or two of red on his cheeks from the sheer
proximity to Fleur.

"When and where should we practice? I'm free from most classwork, but I still go to a few of them,
thought they're mostly early in the day."

"I will look into finding us suitable quarters." Fleur made a pause before she spoke agan. "But zat
is not all I want from you."
Of course not, why would things be so simple? Then again, I expected as much. "What else then?"
he asked.

A few pearly whites showed themselves from behind those pouty pink lips of hers when she smiled
again. "A proper invitation to ze Yule Ball, for one. In ze Great 'all. Ozzerwise, you may set
yourself to the task of seeking anuzzer to accompany you."

Harry nodded, glad it was something so small and accommodating. "Today or tomorrow then?"

She shook her head. "Non, not tomorrow nor today. Let us say... seven days from now, Meester
Potter?"

His brows furrowed together in confusion. "Seven days?" he asked.

"Oui, seven days," said Fleur.

He could do that. He didn't understand why, but he'd do it. No problem. "I'll do that then. Will that
be all, Miss Delacour?"

How very stupid of him to be so hopeful, so naive and simple.

"No, no, Meester Potter, zat is far from all."

At that she glided closer and he suddenly found himself backed against the bare cold stone wall.
Fleur brought one of her hands up to his face, fingernails grazing against his left cheek at first, then
knuckles brushing against it.

She bent her head slightly down, mouth brushing against the shell of his ear. "I simply must insist,"
said the Beauxbatons champion, "zat you call me Fleur, and I shall call you 'arry in return. No need
for formality between partners."

His breathing had become a strain, and he was fairly sure that his whole face matched the color of
Ron's hair. Fleur was very, very close to him, her hands so near but not touching, her lips grazing
but not kissing, her breath scalding but not mingling.

"I... uhh... I... yes, Fleur," said Harry, just on the edge of a whisper.

Fleur pulled away for a moment, letting him see her, looking oh so very pleased with herself,
before she descended anew.

He once thought of how good it would feel to kiss Cho Chang and hold her in his arms.

He knew then and there that no lips would ever match those of Fleur Delacour, nor the fire that her
gentle touch brought.

How little he knew. How little he feared.

And how futile both would have been.

Fleur kept true to her word, and before the day had come to an end, she'd found them a room for
practice. Naturally, they had not met again on that same day, but he felt someone was watching
him, pretty common really, yet this time it was different, and had he turned, he could have easily
traced the gaze to those dark blue eyes, full of wants and wonders and wickedness.

But Harry Potter knew little. And it didn't help that he had to find excuses for absconding from his
friends' company, day after day, night after... well alright, not night after night. No, his nights were
spent in solitude, and often behind the curtains of his four-poster bed, spelled shut in such a way so
as to not allow anyone to interrupt him in the most vital of tasks.

Bless Sirius for his book of charms.

Who could blame him really? He was a boy after all, charged and eager from hormones raging
wildly.

And he had plenty of reason to feel charged during those days.

Those dancing lessons with Fleur left him so very stiff and hard after each session, a fact not lost on
Fleur, who enjoyed teasing him with her rather fiendish body, always so close, just a few layers of
cloth away. At first, he had blushed like mad, being touchy was not his forte, even less so with a
girl, and Fleur was very much a girl, Harry had no doubt about that. In a way, it was... pleasant.
Fleur was rather upfront about these matters, at least when it was just the two of them, showing
little to no discomfort that any other might have experienced when confronted with a young wizard
assailed by his hormones.

She'd had a most melodic laughter when he tried pulling away from her for the first time.

"'arry?" said Fleur, her face framed in worry, while her hand still held his in a firm grasp. "Is
somezzing ze matter?"

How could he tell her? How could he tell any girl about that? It was so sweet, so fucking lovely to
be pressed against her body and to feel them contorting to each other, even if only by a little. It set
his heart thumping and his blood flowing. Alas, there were reactions he could not entirely be
discreet about, and even the bulky black robes provided only so much cover.

"I... I just need a bit of time-out, Fleur," said Harry, in vain trying to wiggle his fingers out of
Fleur's hold, "just a bit.. umm.. hot."

Almost immediately, she grinned. And how she laughed. That sweet sound, Fleur pressing her
hand to those lips in trying to be polite, but all the same, she laughed. Harry, to his surprise, found
out he didn't mind. What he minded even less was when she took his hands into hers again. "Oh
'arry, it's a very normal reaction. Indeed, I consider it a compliment, in fact. Better zat," she gave a
single furtive glance down below, grin still on her face, "zan nuzzing at all, and zat would 'ave
been a razzer depressing zought. Now, come 'ere," she pulled him closer to her, until his full mast
pressed against her midsection, and they danced.

While Harry just kept his head ducked down, cheeks burning with embarrassment he missed out on
seeing the 'cat that got the canary and the cream' look on Fleur's face. Several times during that
first day of dancing, she kept pressing herself more and more than it was needed, until he'd been
ready to burst, and had that happened, Harry would have just signed out of Hogwarts on his own,
no need for Snape to help him along or anything. But Fleur gave not a single damn about what part
of him pressed against her and that only made the witch seem so much more, to him, than what she
truly was.

That day, sweet Merlin, he'd just waited for the first chance, the first unoccupied bathroom stall,
and he'd gone on in there, just barely having enough time to open his robes and pull out, stroking
himself to the blissful finale in a matter of seconds. When the ejaculate did end up flying out of his
slit, Harry was amazed at the sheer force of it, not to mention the quantity.

He'd seen stars burst from the exhaustion and exultation he felt as he sat down in the stall,
recuperating steadily.

Up until recently, he didn't feel that much of a need for pleasuring and relieving himself, despite
what Sirius talked about his own days at Hogwarts - from which, thankfully, his own father's
exploits were exluded - during his fourth year.

Maybe I just didn't have the right inspiration 'till now, Harry thought to himself as he chuckled
inwardly.

And most assuredly, Fleur counted as a divine inspiration for all things carnal.

He didn't mean to, honestly, but whenever he thought of her in those days prior to the Yule Ball, he
only kept thinking of how she'd look in the nude, if she'd still carry that same smile about her face,
still the same easy charm, grace and beauty. How would her white-gold hair fall when set free?
Would it fall just far enough to cover her breasts? Would it tickle him as he kissed his way up from
her belly to her mouth? Would she roll those delightful 'r's in his name as she moaned?

Visions of this, and more, consumed his thoughts daily, lower parts stirring at the very sight and
thought of her. Those robes that Beauxbatons had their witches wear were completely unlike the
ones the witches of Hogwarts had, instead of concealing the robes hugged their curves, they
pronounced them, they enthralled and lured if one looked at them from the right angle. The French
champion had more than her fair share of eye-appealing attributes, even when clothed. Especially
when clothed.

And with all of that in his head, Harry Potter had to admit to himself that he was very much in lust
with Fleur Delacour.

He didn't fool himself, thinking of Fleur as he did of Cho, as some sort of crush, the girl of his
dreams. Well, she was a dream-girl of sorts, save for the fact that the dreams she played part in
were never to be disclosed to anyone, not to friends, not to Sirius, and most certainly not to Fleur,
who was featured in a myriad of poses and situations that his young mind liked to conjure up.

It should have felt very strange how comfortable he felt around her, but he supposed her being so
up-front about nearly everything tended to dissolve whatever barrier might have sprung between
them; as it had with Ron and Hermione, whom he had shuffled off to the side for the time being,
pretending to work on preparing for the Second Task - of which he knew nothing, and that blasted
egg just wouldn't stop screaming - whereas in truth he was only preparing himself for the ball.

Harry's lusting after Fleur aside, he did learn from his lessons. It took time, and a fair amount of
effort, but he'd learned the steps, the tempo, the moves, the motions, the right time when to be stiff,
the wrong time to relax and so on. Fleur was a good teacher, and he did have plenty to aspire to,
after all. She'd instituted, early on, a reward system in place.

"Dance well and you get a kiss," said Fleur. "Dance poorly and our sessions double, wizzout ze
possibility of a kiss."

As it turned out, Harry was a quick and eager study.

He had no idea what to call the relationship between them though. They weren't boyfriend and
girlfriend, even he knew that much, but what exactly were they? When they saw each other, or
passed by one another, in hallways and halls where others dwelled they remained as they originally
were, merely fellow champions and no more.

But when they retreated into that handy little room, with the wizarding wireless and its collection
of music to choose from, they were something more, and something less, than friends. For when
Fleur took to fancy, she liked to lead him in dance and pull him close to her bosom - which Harry
tried to enjoy not too much, but he doubted he showed all that much reluctance - her fingers
stroking his face or hair, always insistent on keeping eye contact, until the entire world was gone
from his mind.

And when she kissed him? The kisses may have been chaste, just lips against lips, yet they felt
anything but.

His body tingled all over and it was one of those rare few times he actually had loosened up
enough to touch her a bit more inappropriately than he usually would. Harry's hands would not
wander too much, personally he just liked placing them on that little spot above her bum, and
moving his palms around in circular motion. Once or twice he even took to massaging her
shoulders, and Fleur profusely thanked him for the small acts of kindness, rewarding him with
further intimacy.

"Repressed, you Eenglishmen are so repressed," Fleur mercilessly teased him when one time she
took to wearing nothing but a white, sleeveless shirt instead of her upper robes during their dance
lesson, citing this or that reason; said shirt didn't leave much to imagination and judging by the
smirks that Fleur cast his way, she was well aware of it. He didn't know whether the French really
gave so little consideration to propriety when in private, but truth be told he didn't care much to ask
around.

And kissing and teasing was not all that happened between them. They talked, for hours at times,
of all sorts of things. One thing he came very much to like about Fleur was how she never pushed
him, never asked him to elaborate on pieces of stories that ended abruptly, when he fell silent, too
overwhelmed by emotions he thought he'd overcome long past. Yet all the same, he found himself
telling her more and more of his life, bit by bit, and she did the same for hers. Fleur talked of her
parents, her father's career in the French Ministry, her little sister's aspirations, her mother's
vineyards, Beauxbatons... anything, really.

All things considered, Harry was having a brilliant time.

The day had come. The big day. The day of judgment. Cast the apple and envy appeareth a-plenty.

There was just that pesky matter of getting out of the common room and down to the great hall.

"Honestly, Harry, you should have asked someone as your date for the ball already, most of the
girls have chosen with whom they'll go and the longer you wait, the lesser your chances of going
with someone whom you'd find tolerable enough."

Hermione's rebuke about Harry's passivity for acquiring a date for the ball was getting on his
nerves. It was far from the first time she spoke of it, but after today, it would be the last. And won't
that be a surprise to her. Well, her and everyone else.

It was true, though, what she said. Most have already paired off, and there had even been the
occasional, courageous under-fourth-year matching up with an older student so as to get a chance
at seeing the Great Hall in its greatest splendor. Ron, in fact, had been snagged by a rather quirky
Ravenclaw witch, who turned out to be a friend of Ginny's. She wasn't quite exactly a looker, but
there was an odd air about her, along with a healthy disregard for what counted as casual
conversation from what Harry had witnessed up so far, and for some reason Ron had indeed ended
up asking her to the ball.
Hermione was mighty miffed by it, no surprise there, even though she herself had apparently been
asked out by persons unknown before Ron and accepted. So really, she didn't have a leg to stand
on, but Ron being Ron, he proceeded to insert foot in mouth and was on the outs with her from
there on.

Which meant Harry was the recipient of all her frustration, the not-so-willing ear for her rants
about the house elves, the purebloods usual bigotry, the ball, how dangerous the first task was,
how dangerous the next ones might be, how Ron was being thick and rude for no reason, how she
really didn't see the point for restricting who gets to go to the ball and so on.

Personally, Harry could've done without the drama about the ball, but then... I wouldn't have met
Fleur properly, now would I?

"Look, Hermione," said Harry, just as she was about to start another rant, "how about if I go and do
it right now?"

"Do what right now?" asked Hermione, utterly nonplussed by his interruption.

"Go and ask someone to be my date for the ball."

She shook her head. "Oh Harry, " said Hermione, the smallest of smiles on her face, a sign of
friendly concern, "you can't do it like that. You can't just," she lifted her arms away from the book
in her lap and waved them around, "go and approach any witch like she's one of your dorm-mates
and pop the question all willy nilly."

He felt amused by this side of Hermione, so unlike her, so very... girly.

"And why not?" asked Harry, suppressing a smirk.

It wouldn't have been much of a surprise if she suddenly pulled out a list from somewhere beneath
her robes, but it seemed Fate didn't want the muggleborn witch teased too much, so she settled for
ticking off the list on her fingers. By the end of it, he was suppressing the grin from breaking out
on his face, but judging by the small scowl on her face, he'd failed.

"Hermione, did you read about this in a book?" he asked her and judging by the red appearing on
her cheeks, he'd guessed right. "Hermione," he calmed her down, before she could go off on yet
another rant, "I already know who to ask, so don't worry." He hoped his confident smile put her at
ease; after all, he did know who to ask and what she'd say.

Her imminent speech forgotten, Hermione's eyes went slightly wide, a tad incredulous perhaps.
"You do?" she asked.

Harry opted to nod, rather than verbalize his reply. Then he had an idea. "How about this: I go and
invite someone now and if they say 'yes', you tell me and Ron who asked you out?"

"I won't be telling you no such thing," she huffed.

"Why? What's the big secret?" Harry frowned. "It's not Malfoy, is it?"

Hermione's face got green all around. "What? No! Don't be disgusting! That's... that's horrible.
Why would you think that?"

He shrugged. "It's not like you to be so secretive, 's all. Besides, gotta poke fun at you sometimes."

"It's one thing to poke fun," said Hermione, "and another to be so vulgar. Malfoy makes my skin
crawl."

"So that's a 'no' then?" asked Harry.

"No! I mean, yes, that's a no! You're being a prat, Harry. Now shoo, find your date now before she
gets taken by someone else."

And so he found himself stumbling out of the Gryffindor common room, suppressing laughter that
was bubbling up from inside. He'd rarely seen Hermione so flustered about a date, which meant
this meant a lot to her, one way or another. Still shaking his head in amusement at the whole thing,
he failed to notice one of his Quidditch teammates coming up the stairs to reach the Fat Lady's
portrait and they ended up bumping heads right in front of it.

"Ow! Bloody hell!"

"Sorry," said Harry sheepishly, still in good cheer, as he helped Katie Bell rise up from the floor.
"Didn't see you there."

The muggleborn Chaser shook her head, muttering something about Seekers, bats and Snitches.
Then her face lit up.

"Harry!" said Katie, rather enthusiastically, with a big smile on her face.

The smile made Harry feel somewhat uncertain, but he figured she was just reminiscing about a
last year's match or something.

"Yeah, Katie?" asked Harry.

For a moment there, Katie Bell looked unsure of herself, but maybe it was just a trick of the light.
"You nervous about the ball?"

Not really sure where she was going with this, Harry just replied with, "No. I mean, I was, but not
anymore."

"Good, good. Got your dress robes all ready then?" He nodded. "Got a date for it?"

"No, not yet," said Harry, his face almost by reflex turning towards a smile at the thought of Fleur
and how gorgeous she'd look at the ball; it didn't really matter what kind of dress she wore. Lost in
his thoughts, he didn't see it coming. He should have, he really should, but then again, no one
would ever say Harry Potter was a master of insight into things concerning girls.

"Well, how about it then?" Katie asked. His face must have shown confusion he felt on the inside,
so she elaborated. "You and me," she grinned, tucking a few strands of brown hair behind her ear,
"together for the ball?"

"Oh," said Harry, the almost-smile from thinking about Fleur completely vanished. "I.. uhh, Katie,
it's not that —"

Quick as a flash, the smile on Katie's face was gone, the shine in her eyes dimmed, and she
suddenly rushed past him.

Well, that wasn't awkward at all.

A significantly less cheerful Harry Potter made his way to the Great Hall, before slumping down at
the Gryffindor table. Ron noticed his deflated mood, gave him a once-over, but stayed quiet,
thinking Harry would say something if he wanted. He knew better than to try and dig it out of
Harry, that was Hermione's job. And just as he thought of her, there she came, almost storming
towards the table, and rather pissed off at that. Judging how she gave Ron only a furtive glance, it
was safe to say Harry was her mark. What soon followed only confirmed as much.

"Harry Potter!" said Hermione angrily, while trying to keep her voice down. "What did you do?"

Her abrupt approach brought him back up to his full faculties. "What?" asked Harry, mildly
confused.

"You've just barely gone out of the common room," said Hermione, "and in comes Katie Bell, red-
faced and teary-eyed. Alicia and Angelina went to comfort her, and in the middle of it out comes
your name. What did you do?" she pointedly asked.

"Nothing," blurted out Harry, suddenly very aware of what transpired, "she just asked me to go
with her to the ball."

"And?"

"And," said Harry, elongating the word, "I might have been trying to, uhh, tell her that I had
someone else in mind, but I didn't really get a chance to do that before she just went by me."

Hermione seemed conflicted on what to say. "You told me you didn't ask anyone yet."

Harry nodded. "I didn't. I mean, I haven't, not yet, but I was coming here to ask them."

"Well?" she asked, as if she didn't quite believe him, as if she dared him to do it right then and
there.

This was turning into a nightmare. Why was she upset with him for not accepting Katie's proposal?

"Fine," said Harry through his teeth, rising up from the Gryffindor table.

He took out his wand, tapped it a few times against his robes, muttering the necessary incantation
for straightening them out. He didn't want to look like a slob, and though he wished he knew a spell
to fix up his perpetual rat's nest of a hair, all the same he turned around and faced the Ravenclaw
table, while also suddenly noticing how many eyes were on him. Harry resisted the urge to ball his
hands into fists or grit his teeth from frustration, even as a few of those 'Support Cedric Diggory'
badges suddenly appeared on the robes of several people in his sight. Slowly, but surely, Harry
walked towards the Ravenclaw table, right towards where Fleur Delacour and her two friends were
sitting about.

It was oppressive, the number of gazes against him, as though they all expected he'd fail and
embarrass himself.

Well, they have another thing coming if that's what they're hoping for.

He reached Fleur fairly quickly and slowly she turned around. Had he not spent the previous week
in her company, he would not have know the glint in her eyes was borne of good-natured
amusement, rather than scorn or spite. Her mouth, along with the rest of her face, was affixed in a
neutral tone, as though they were strangers who did not know each other, who'd never shared a
single kiss or touch or a word with one another. Yet despite the obvious lack of warmth and
familiarity from Fleur, he felt infused, a sudden rushing of his blood, the pounding of his heart in
his ears, and a stiffness that couldn't be denied beneath the layers of his clothes, inside his trousers.
Harry had to fight dearly not to allow the smile to show up on his face, and all the more fiercely
not to lean towards Fleur and kiss those pouty lips of hers again and again and again, no matter
who watched.

An eternity died and was born again in a moment as he kept the urges under check, strangely
encouraged by what he'd felt.

Without any tremble whatsoever in his voice, or the slightest stutter in the words he was to utter,
Harry said, "Miss Delacour, would you give me the honor of accompanying me as a fellow
champion, and date, for the Yule Ball?"

One could hear a pin drop in the Great Hall.

It seemed as though all sound had died a sudden death.

And only the answer from Fleur Delacour would give it back its life.

One corner of her mouth turned slightly upward, barely noticeable, before those pink lips fully
parted and gave their reply.

Ron was disbelieving at first at what happened, though he did come around later on and said, "Nice
one, mate," goofy smile plastered across his face, completely ignoring the glares sent his way.
Chief among those glares was Hermione's, of course.

She was incensed when she asked, "Fleur Delacour?" the name spoken like a curse. "Harry, you
rejected Katie for her?" Hermione was well and truly mad. His choice in whom he would date
apparently grated a lot with her. "Of all the..."

He was really tired of this song and dance. "'Of all the' what, Hermione? Go on, what were you
going to say?"

In a moment, Hermione seemed to have realized how far she must have gone, but apparently she let
her own prejudices override common sense and reason.

"Harry," said Hermione calmly, "Fleur Delacour is a horrible girl, she's mean and nasty."

"No, she isn't," said Harry vehemently.

"Yes, she is," hissed Hermione. "She humiliates whomever she pleases, and looks down her nose
on the whole of Hogwarts."

"No, she doesn't." He was getting tired of repeating himself. "They embarrassed themselves and she
had nothing to do with it."

"Harry, she's part Veela, they couldn't hel—"

"Oh of course!" Harry snapped his fingers. "Of course they couldn't help themselves, and that
somehow makes it her fault. She's done nothing to you and I've never heard her say a single bad
thing about Hogwarts or anyone for that matter, but you seem to have something against her. Why,
Hermione?" Harry was truly puzzled by his friend's behavior, quite unlike her.

But rather than answer the question, Hermione focused on the sentence that preceded it. "You
never heard her say anything bad?" Her eyes narrowed down suspiciously. "When exactly have
you had the time to be around Fleur Delacour, Harry, to hear her say anything at all?" As suddenly
as they narrowed down, so they widened apart. "Harry, you didn't! You told us you were trying to
solve the golden egg you got from the First Task!"

Caught in a lie, he no longer cared. "The Second Task is two months away, Hermione! Two
months! So what if I asked her out, so what if instead of working on the golden egg I chose to
spend my time with her? Hermione," he tried for a calmer approach, "Fleur's not bad. Sure, she
might seem like that occasionally to you and others, but imagine if you were asked all the time out
by people too dazed in the head to notice they almost drooled at the sight of you - no offence,
Ron," he nodded at his friend who just chose to duck his head and hide, "and even so they asked
you out only because of how you looked and nothing more."

"And you didn't ask Delacour out because of how pretty she is?" asked Hermione, all bristled up.

He threw his arms in the air. "I give up, you're impossible. I spent a whole week with her,
Hermione. A week, and I got to know her, I'd like to think better than the rest of them ever tried to,
and yes I know she's pretty, more than just pretty, but that's not all she is."

How could he make her understand? Could he? Did she even want to understand?

"Oh yes, I'm sure the two of you talked," Hermione emphasized the last word, "a whole lot, but
Harry," her voice softened, "I'm not being unreasonable here. You can't say her laughing at those
boys that asked her out and deriding them verbally afterward wasn't mean of her." For what it was
worth, Harry tried to get where Hermione was getting from, but he'd been around Fleur, spent
hours upon hours, and not once, not a single time, did she ever show herself to be a cruel, cold-
hearted witch. Quite the opposite in fact, Fleur Delacour was a very warm, if a bit inappropriate at
times in terms of intimacy, person.

They could have gotten over this hurdle, a pair of friends mending the fences together, if only she
had not said, "She's using you, Harry. I don't know how or why, but that girl's no good for you. It's
all going to end in tears, and you'll know I was right."

Harry stormed out of the common room without a word, rather than choosing to yell at his friend.

When she looked back, years later, at this moment, Hermione would say to herself she would have
preferred the latter.

Maybe it would have kept him the same as he was, the same Harry that her and Ron had known
before it all changed.

She found him, almost miraculously quickly, just a short while after the episode in the common
room with Hermione.

Harry didn't even notice her entering the room, so deep into his thoughts that writhed with
bitterness and anger.

Only when she was a few steps away from him, the door closed and securely locked behind her,
did she call his name.

"'arry."

Startled as he was he started to fall from the desk where he sat, and would have fallen down on the
ground, landing on his back, had Fleur's hand not reached out, lightning-fast, and grabbed hold of
him to keep him steady and upright.

At the sight of who it was, his face momentarily turned from panic to a smile. "Fleur," said Harry,
"what are you doing here?"

He felt, more than saw in the poor lighting, her hand settle atop his own. "You were upset when
you left ze great 'all."

Harry sighed. "A bit of a row with Hermione over..." he hesitated.

And she finished. "Over me," said Fleur softly. Her fingers intertwined with his and her hold grew
firmer on him. She chose to seat herself next to him, though there wasn't much space left on the
desk and so they sat shoulder to shoulder, hand still in hand. It was a simple gesture, nothing grand
about it, but it helped in ways he could not describe. Fleur didn't say a thing about Hermione,
neither foul nor good; she let the silence reign instead and she let him come to her instead of his
own free will.

Harry turned his head to the side and, rather than speak, chose to press his mouth against Fleur's,
barely resisting the primeval urge to part her lips open with his tongue, to grab hold of her head and
push himself closer, to take in the scent, the taste, to allow the maddening lust and affection he felt
for the French witch to overtake him, all worries of the world be damned and gone. But he didn't.
As always, he restrained himself, like so many times before, respecting her restraint in turn.

The two kept each other warm, until the late hour of the night, in the only way they knew how.

And it had come upon them, so swiftly and suddenly.

The evening of the Yule Ball.

Harry had gone down to the entrance hall with Ron by his side, who had been swiftly scooped up
by his Ravenclaw date, and Hermione nowhere in sight. For the past few days since their fight,
neither had spoken to the other, hoping perhaps that if they ignored the matter it would soon come
to fade from memory. Looking around, Harry saw no hide or hair of Hermione, wondering if
perhaps she might have fabricated a date for the ball altogether, and hoped that her friends might
have spent it with her, rather than any other girl. In the pit of his gut, he started to feel the churning
of guilt, with ample self-loathing to boot. It might have gone on and festered further, had it not been
for the impending distraction that thralled his mind.

The other Tri-Wizard champions had arrived.

First among them was Cedric with Cho by his side, both of which were dressed impeccably, the
former in black, majestic robes and the latter in an oriental-styled silvery dress, that went up from
her ankles to the top of her neck. She was beautiful.

And she was nothing when compared to Fleur.

Fleur Delacour took his breath away and he breathed in rather sharply at how magnificent she
looked. Robes of silver-grey satin, with floral patterns and swans embossed on top of it, hugged her
milky-white skin, exposing it in seemingly randomly placed patches; the tip of her right shoulder, a
transparent line beneath her right knee on the front, the sliver of skin down her neck. Her hair,
lustrous and splendorous, was suspended above her neck, in a rather complex and ornate looking
bun, with a lock of hair on each side of her face, framing it, accentuating symmetrical perfection,
pronouncing the dimples when she smiled.

And when she smiled at the sight of him, the world no longer mattered. He came back to it when
she extended her hand towards him, only to bow low and place a kiss on top of her knuckles,
sweetest nothings escaping his mouths as they brushed against her skin. Harry raised his head and
saw the gleam of satisfaction in her midnight-blue eyes, lips pursed in amusement.

"Shall we, Fleur?" asked Harry, as he lowered her hand and let go.

Gracefully, in one motion, she maneuvered herself by his side, her arm loped through his and held
it close to her side.

"Oui 'arry'. We shall," said Fleur smilingly.

They positioned themselves right next to Cedric and Cho, who stood between them and Krum and
whoever his date was.

Shortly thereafter, the entrance hall grew silent, the lights dimmed, McGonagall came about and
the doors opened.

Had anyone told Harry Potter that he'd actually come to enjoy dancing and twirling about in front
of the eyes of hundreds upon hundreds of witches and wizards, completely uncaring what they
thought of him, what they saw, he would have called that person a madman. He would never come
to thrill in being the center of attention, such was his soul and heart. But with Fleur in his arms, one
hand in his, the other placed atop his shoulder, while his held her by the waist, he could dance the
night and his whole life away. They twisted and turned, and without Harry knowing, or even
feeling it, Fleur had spread the wings of her Allure and cast it wide, turning everyone's minds and
eyes towards them, as befitting a bewitching beauty of her stature.

The first dance came to an end and they departed from the floor, while scores of witches and
wizards flooded in their place.

The champions shared their table with the Hogwarts, and visiting schools, staff and judges, though
thankfully Harry had avoided sitting anywhere near Percy, who had replaced Barty Crouch as the
head of Department of IMC after the older wizard's demotion from when the debacle regarding
Sirius' lack of trial surfaced in the Daily Prophet.

Harry had found himself sitting next to Krum, while Fleur was placed right besides Cho, who stole
the occasional glance towards them; though out of curiosity, envy or something else, neither knew
and neither cared. They'd made their opinion of the champion and his date known when they asked
them to switch partners mid-dance. Both Fleur and Harry found themselves saying, at the same
time, a very clear and loud 'no'. The look on Cho's face was that of outright shock, like the one that
adorned her features when Harry first asked Fleur to accompany him to the ball, instead of the
pitying smile she initially wore.

Glee had replaced his own initial outrage at the question, and it had since settled into his gut,
purring from delight.

But a greater cause for his anger was yet to come, when they took to the floor once more and
danced anew.

Harry didn't pay heed to Krum and his date, as they came closer and closer, the witch's face
wrought with worry. Had they not come so near that they almost could touch Harry and Fleur, he
would have never looked upon them, not even once, during the rest of the night; such was Fleur's
beauty, such was his willing enthrallment to her. But they had come close.

And he looked upon the face of a friend.

And Harry saw only red.

Once more, he had been shown how skillful Fleur was, this time with magic of words, rather than
wand. She'd chased them away, the Durmstrang champion and... and... Hermione Granger. It felt
sickening, to think of her like that, like she was just another student, just another Gryffindor with
whom he had only passing contact, and not years of friendship intertwined.

He loathed her. He hated her.

"Hypocrite," Fleur had muttered in French, the word, having had no language barrier to pierce,
cutting deep and true.

And he wanted to kiss Fleur. Wanted to take her in his arms and give unto her hundreds, if not
thousands, of thank-you's.

It was frightening how a witch that he knew for less than two weeks could see the storm of rage
brewing in his eyes, and yet his friend of three years hoped against hope that it would pass and
everything would be well and alright.

If Ron hadn't shown up... Harry shuddered at the conclusion of the thought.

Ron. Who would have thought it? Between him and Fleur, Hermione was dealt with swiftly,
shamed and shunned to the side.

"After all the trouble you've given him for asking out Delacour," said Ron, eyes averted from Fleur
so as to avoid a familiar situation from recurring, "you actually went out with Krum?" The name
couldn't have sounded more like a curse if it were one. His once-hero now turned horrid-villain.
How very strange it was that Ron gave well deserved grief to Hermione, rather than reverse.

Ron. He'd remember that look his friend gave him, one that told him he had his back no matter
what. Ron, faith restored.

But it was not enough, not nearly enough, and right when he came close to the edge of blowing up,
raised voices and damned be all who thought he gave a single shit for what they saw or heard,
Fleur acted yet again. She dropped her hand from his shoulder and took his from her waist, before
clasping the remaining one in both of hers and leading him out. Out, past the doors of the Great
Hall, out, past the vast emptiness of the entrance hall, out... until both of them were under the stars.

They were alone in the courtyard, where carriages stood empty, decorated hedges and bushes
lighting up night with magic.

She had lead him to some obscure corner, where no one would stumble across them, not before
they heard them approach.

Fleur dropped his hand from hers, which disoriented him for a moment - what was he without her
touch? - and then raised one of them up, her smooth palm against his cheek. Harry leaned into it,
gladly, desperate for any contact between them.

"Oh, my sweet 'arry," whispered Fleur before her mouth came to brush against his.

It was almost enough and when he bunched his face in frustration, she took her chance.

It was not him, as he liked to imagine, parting her lips with his tongue.
It was not him pressing her against the wall, head bending lower to devour her gasps.

And he didn't give a single damn.

Harry Potter let go of his restraint as he closed his eyes and so in turn followed Fleur Delacour.

The moment she felt the change within him, eerily sensing it happening, she too had changed in her
approach. Whereas her tongue first plied gently against his, slowly familiarizing him with its own
taste, now it had become a ravenous thing. She plundered his mouth for all its worth, and cared
nothing for when her perfect and pristine teeth grazed roughly against his lips. Her fingers that
were tangled in his hair and robes curled inwards, looking more alike claws than human digits.

Behind closed lids, her blue eyes turned darker until they became utterly black, iris
indistinguishable from pupil.

When they had separated from each other for air, she still had not let go of him and pressed him
harsher against the wall, her body contouring to his own, one of her legs finding its way between
his, as it settled against his crotch in a slow grind.

"Mmm, my pretty 'arry," purred Fleur, in between caressing kisses.

Harry opened his eyes and saw her, saw her as if he was seeing her for the first time in his life.

The beauty that she was, unrealistic and fantastical, superimposed over the common and rather
dreary reality.

"What to do, mmm?" asked Fleur, fingers moving through his hair, her breath scalding Harry's
skin. He'd felt the need to writhe under her touch, to seek it out more, to ply and demand in equal
measure for more of Fleur. More of whatever she had to offer, more of anything, so long as it was
willingly and freely given. He said as much.

"More."

Fleur smiled and he felt the expression spread against his forehead as her lips rested on it. "More?"
asked Fleur. "Are you certain, 'arry, zat you want more of me? It's not somezzing I will allow you
to retract, no, most certainly not."

Unwilling to do so at first, but doing it all the same, he pushed her away from his face so that he
could look into her eyes.

"Yes," said Harry in a scratchy voice, his throat feeling parched. "Please, Fleur." He never begged,
not anyone, not for anything.

The movement from her leg stopped all of a sudden and he felt how stiff it had made him in its
absence.

Harry throbbed with lust for Fleur, blood rushing to his member, fully engorging it.

But for Fleur that was not enough. "Encore, 'arry," said Fleur, her neck bent lower, pouty lips
moving across the line of his jaw, across his cheek and down his neck. Little by little, they left
their wet imprint behind, but nowhere near as strong as when Fleur's mouth latched onto the skin of
Harry's neck, just a little below his ear, right on the tendon, and started suckling.

Harry moaned. He didn't mean to. It wasn't a conscious thought. It was a primitive response to
pleasure. So he gave into her.
"More, Fleur. Please, Fleur," said Harry, repeating himself over and over, her mouth moving all
over his neck, sometimes suckling, something biting, something tickling with her breath, but
always in motion, even as her hand slowly traversed the full length of his dress robes and reached
the low point of its midsection. He had not seen it, but he felt it most keenly.

Fleur pressed her palm against his full length and laughed delicately into his ear, just as her mouth
moved onto its lobe.

"Encore," commanded Fleur and Harry obliged.

Please, please, please kept falling out of his mouth as Fleur's delicate hand deftly worked at
searching for something beneath his robes. Upon finding it, she smiled the most wicked smile she
ever had and gently squeezed the sack that throbbed in sync with his length. She was brutal in a
certain way, fondling and rolling the soft part of the organ between her fingers, muttering words in
French, words Harry didn't know the meaning of, words he didn't rightly care for in the moments
this was happening, words utterly irrelevant as those slim fingers of her easily wrapped themselves
around the base of his fully erect cock.

"So zis is what you pressed against me all zose times, eh, 'arry?" teased Fleur, whispering. "Little
boy, I said, but I was wrong." She squeezed him just once, cutting off the bloodflow and effectively
preventing his premature climax. "I wonder," breathed Fleur into his ear, "how big you really are.
Tell me, 'arry, 'ow many times?"

Dazed as he was, and a somewhat comedic sight with his glasses askew, green eyes half-glazed,
Harry only said, "What?"

Fleur released her hold, and slowly started stroking, up and down. "'ow many times did you zink of
me, 'arry, when you ran to zose bazzrooms? 'ow many times, with cock in 'and? Did you dream of
me, 'arry? Dream of me touching you?"

"Yesss," hissed Harry. Her stroking had increased in pace, frantically so, and he knew he would not
last for long, but thoughts of whether he was done fast or slow never entered his mind. He only
wanted it now.

Fleur pulled her face away from the side of his head and kissed him on the mouth, even as she
worked his cock with her hand, cool winter breeze completely disregarded by both of them, the
heat from flesh-touching-flesh keeping them warm. Harry felt as if he was melting in her hand, as if
he was all liquid and not skin and bone, even as he pushed himself deeper and harder against the
palm of her hand, so selfish for his own release. Her touch was better than anything he dreamed of,
her words silkier and more lewd than he thought her capable of. And as it was all coming to its
inevitable conclusion, he thought of how beautiful her face would look, covered with streaks of his
own sticky climax, smiling with those pearly white teeth of hers.

"Bon," said Fleur, "as it should be. Now," an imperious tone entered her voice and her felt a surge
go through his body, "cum."

Harry could only do as she bid him to. He felt himself convulsing, cock hardening more than ever
before, as it splurted out its load, rope after rope of sticky semen, hitting Fleur's dress, his own
robes, the ground and eventually her hand near the end.

His breath was ragged and had she not been there to hold him, he would have collapsed down on
the floor.

A moment later, he winced, as he felt Fleur's hand still milking his cock, forcing out what little cum
remained out, now staining more against his robes than the ground or Fleur's own hand. He didn't
tell her to stop, however, and rode the wave of pleasure through the pain, forehead clinging to
Fleur's shoulder as she refused to give up her task of wringing him utterly dry.

Eventually it did end and Fleur's hand pulled away, while he was pushed back against the wall for
stability.

He thought himself fully spent for the night. Never had he climaxed as much as he did now, not in
quantity, not in such force.

How surprised he was to see Fleur smiling at him wickedly, full of her own unspent lust, and raise
the semen-stained hand up to her mouth, where on close proximity her pink tongue darted out from
behind those lips and started cleaning her up. Even exposed as he was, flaccid cock hanging out of
his robes, even against the winter's chill, he felt a new rush of blood flow downwards as he beheld
the sight in front of him. Like a feline, she had licked her hand clean.

And then she bent low once more, kissing him fully on the mouth, tongue against tongue.

There was a heavy, bitter and salty taste to her - a distant part of his mind told him he was tasting
himself, but he did not care in the slightest - yet that did little in preventing him from responding
back to her, utterly uncaring of the stains that covered both of their robes now. Every now and
again, the taste would come stronger and he'd feel another glob of semen mixed with saliva fall
down into his mouth, pushed out by Fleur's tongue and then kept there until he swallowed.

When Fleur parted from Harry's face for the last time that night, breathing rather noticeably, she
had only one thing to say.

"I zink zat you and I shall have a great deal of fun, 'arry Potter."
 To play with a Veela

The night was far from over, but Fleur wouldn't have minded much if it ended there. After all,
she'd just had her way with her would-be lover, teased him over the edge, had him begging for her,
and in the end, she'd fed him his own ejaculate. All in all, she was wet as October.

For the moment, the two of them were content in simply being, rather than doing anything else.

Already, Fleur's mind had been set in motion, planning on how to exploit this, how to push him
even further than she had thus far, how to tantalize him, how to provoke his reactions at just the
right time, how to enthrall his entire being unto her... and yet she needn't have bothered for even
when he was milked and still in a haze of pleasure induced, Harry retained some semblance of his
senses, enough to at least ask, "What about you, Fleur?"

For a moment there, she couldn't believe her luck. "What of me, 'arry?" murmured Fleur, her hand
quick to caress his face.

He gulped, bleary eyes staring up at her from behind glasses. "You..." said Harry, "you did this for
me, and I haven't —"

Fleur pressed a finger against his mouth, shushing him. "Do you want to, 'arry?" whispered Fleur,
heat flooding her limbs.

Without hesitation, without any sense of propriety, cock still hanging out of his robes, Harry said,
"Yes," in a soft tone.

She was quick to replace her finger with her mouth, tongue diving in, while fighting hard to
suppress a growl from rising in her throat, not daring, not yet, to let him know how much she had in
store for him. Feeding him his own seed had just been the start, and the fact that he chose not to
acknowledge it in words bode well for her. Though the taste was far from the worst she had ever
had, there would be changes in his diet, subtly introduced, to make him all the more sweeter.

From beneath her robes, Fleur whisked her wand and swiftly cleaned both of them of his mess, and
tidied his clothes back up, shuffling his flaccid member back beneath the robes, though if she had
her way it would not remain hidden for much longer.

"Follow me," said Fleur against his mouth, hand in hand. He took only a moment to compose
himself, set his glasses straight and follow her in a brisk stride. Harry hadn't seen her, what with her
back turned against him, murmuring incantations for spells to avoid anyone noticing them; the last
thing she wished for was to have an unscheduled interruption.

Just moments later, when they departed from the courtyard, she'd seen the wisdom of her act, as
that ugly looking man, with the hooked nose and grease-stained hair, swiftly passed near them
without giving a single glance in their direction.

No doubt on the prowl for any students having fun. Mustn't have that, Fleur remarked to herself,
laughing on the inside.

The Beauxbatons carriage was completely empty when they arrived. After all, the night was still
very young, and no couple from Beauxbatons would be returning so soon. Not to mention Madame
Maxime's displeasure if they were obvious about it. But Fleur cared nothing for what pleased or
displeased the half-giant headmistress of her school, she had a boy on her mind.
While his head whirled all around the hallway they passed, the paintings on the walls, the lanterns
illuminating them, he'd completely missed how deep they were heading into the carriage, having
gotten somewhat disoriented by the speed of their pace. Soon enough they were in front of a door,
which Fleur unlocked with a brushing of her palm against the hardwood and a phrase familiar to
only four people in the whole delegation of Beauxbatons.

"In 'ere," said Fleur and pulled Harry by the arm inside her room. He might have gone on to look
around, to take in the sights as it were, to look and wonder at the magic of how it was made and
sustained through all this time, the moonlight which came through the glass of the window, the
vivid landscapes which came to life underneath his lingering gazes... if only not for Fleur.

Gone was the gentleness from her hands, gone the softness of her mouth.

She pushed him forcefully down onto her bed, on top of the duvet, on his back, leaving him
looking up at her.

"You want to repay ze favor, 'arry?" asked Fleur. He nodded in response. "Bon. We must begin
your lessons."

"Lessons?" asked Harry uncertainly.

In the dark of the room, she smiled. She moved one hand to the back of her head, pulling out the
pin which held everything in place, letting it fall down in waves on the shoulders of her dress.

"'ave you ever done anyzzing like zis before?" For a moment or two she searched for the right
word. "Reciprocated?"

Warmth bloomed on his cheeks. "No, I've never..."

"Never what, 'arry?" teased Fleur as she slowly reached the bed herself and straddled him on top,
her legs over his by the sides. "Never 'ad a girl 'old you in 'and?" Her fingers started slowly
massaging his robed member. "Never tasted yourself?"

Of course you haven't, Harry. Not to fear, I'm here and willing to teach you so many wonderful
things.

What he said was far from what she expected to hear.

In a tone that spoke of disbelief, Harry said, "I've never even kissed a girl. And then I met you and
—"

He didn't have a chance to finish what else might have been at the tip of his tongue, as Fleur
swooped down, viciously, clamming his lips shut with her own. Harry propped himself up
somewhat, eager to keep the closeness between them.

His confession unfurled something dark within her as her blood began to boil upon his confession.
She was wet before, but now she was positively soaking.

His first. I shall be his first in everything. I will be his everything.

Thoughts of teaching him any sort of lessons went out the proverbial window.

She hadn't planned on that, no, most certainly not. In her mind laid dormant the idea of letting him
kiss her only once his face had been coated with her own release, after she took him for a ride and
poured her own juices down his throat. But now? Now she couldn't wait. Fingers crooked into
claws and the robes which Harry wore were ripped into shreds in a matter of moments, her own
dress suffering the same fate soon after. She needed this. Needed to smell his bare skin in the
moonlight, still untainted.

No, it was not the first time she had a pure boy in her grasp. Jacque was one such, but then again,
at his age, it would have been a surprise if he had done anything before Fleur snatched him up.
Even so, even he had kissed a girl before, even if it was just a peck on the lips. But Harry, sweet
and innocent, apparently had never even done as little as that. She had to make sure.

Allure seeped into his skin, deep into the pores, deeper than skin and flesh, right into his blood,
inflaming it.

"Not even a peck?" asked Fleur, hairsbreadth away from his mouth.

"No," answered Harry, and she felt him wanting to curl inwards, away from her... from shame?

Fleur almost laughed. Cackled, more like it. Like a banshee might howl, she wanted to give voice
to her pleasure, to her unending satisfaction of having a boy of fourteen, pure and unclaimed
beneath her... well, pure and unclaimed until now. Instead, she chose to maul him with her mouth.
He needed a softer touch, she knew - she knew, but all the same she couldn't resist.

Everyone had breaking points and he had just touched upon one of hers. And she would discover
what all of his were.

What had mere moments before been a mellow massage had turned into a hard vice around his
cock.

"Oh, 'arry," breathed Fleur, even as she greedily devoured the gasp of pain from his mouth.

"Fleur?" asked Harry, perhaps a tad frightened by the sudden burst of raw passion from her.

His fear was like a drop of undiluted aphrodisiac for Fleur. Such a wonderful vortex of emotions
and one above them all...

"Fleur," repeated Harry, voice no longer unsure, beckoning midnight-blue to emerald-green.

"Yes?" half-growled came the reply, as she stopped the change, keeping it beneath, because he was
not yet ready for her.

Harry surprised her. Despite the rough grip she had on his organ, despite the brutality of her
assault, his hand come to rest on one side of her face, pushing the white-gold hair back behind her
ear, fingers just barely touching the shell of it.

And he smiled. A genuine smile, unpolluted of the Allure, of lust and passion evoked in the hour of
the night.

"I trust you, Fleur," said Harry and sealed his fate.

He watched how the blue turned to black and suppressed a wince of pain that came from the
piercing of skin in his side.

"Zen you are a fool, 'arry Potter."

How did he know? Was the change that far gone without her sensing it? No. He couldn't have
known. He had never had a chance before that night to see a Veela in the throes of frenzy and lust,
he had never endured the madness of a rutting.

Her unique brand of madness ran rampant, virulent. It infected him.

As hard and brutal as she was, so increased his desperation for her touch.

When she broke his lip with her teeth and drew blood he shuddered in ecstasy, unparalleled to
anything he had felt before, as her tongue flicked past her own lips and licked it all up. The
sharpness of her fingers-turned-claws left its marks on his pale skin.

But he did not shy away. He did not push the witch back, did not try to make her relent, did not
constrain nor restrain.

Harry embraced her, even as she tore skin, even as her talon-hands roughly and painfully pushed
him further up on the bed, while his manhood was pressed firmly against him, weighed down by
Fleur's naked, lithe form. They'd only stopped when his head rested atop the pillow. Only then did
she rise above him, giving him ample opportunity to gaze upon her nakedness.

One of his hand rose up, reaching for her breast, but she caught it at the wrist before he could lay a
single finger on her.

"No," said Fleur and forced it back down, until it hit the pillow, right next to his head. She was
quick to grab onto the other as well, until it too was placed near his head. "Stay still," she
commanded and he did as she bid. And it absolutely thrilled her.

Fleur took great care in how she positioned herself, where she sat atop his body, and slowly, with
minute gyration of her hips, she started to move. His reactions amused her; the way his breathing
grew heavier, the racing pulse of blood in his veins, the widening of his pupils... and that cock of
his, straining for an even greater hardness, leaking, and trying to press itself between her cheeks,
even thought it didn't stand a chance in hell it would be getting anywhere near there. Not yet, at
least.

However, Harry was not the only one whose body reacted in such a situation. Her own nipples had
stiffened, becoming as small pebbles, the dampness between her legs had long since started
trickling down and left its slimy trail across his stomach, but the heat that lingered between her legs
was growing by the second and she needed it properly taken care of, soon.

So she climbed up his body, dragging her weeping chatte all over him - marking him - and the
friction only served to increase her pleasure, until finally, and somewhat reluctantly, she stopped,
having reached her destination. Harry's face was a marvel to behold from above, held somewhere
between disbelief, lust and - what Fleur prized most above all - worship.

Fleur brought herself even closer than she was just a moment ago, barely a breath away from
Harry's mouth. She quite enjoyed his labored breathing, as it had began to tantalize her properly,
causing her to drip even more of her juices down onto him. His green eyes seemed unable to focus,
wandering from looking up into her black eyes and dropping down to her hairless slit.

He wet his lips many times and his pretty eyes showed a unique kind of hunger growing within.

One of her hands found itself in Harry's hair, fingers tangling amidst the mess, and she pulled him
towards her, daring him to see if he'd make the first move or if he'd wait for her. Either way, it
would benefit her in ways yet unseen.

It came as no surprise that Harry managed to restrain himself and avoided thrusting his face nose-
deep into her crotch, even while under the caress of the Allure. Though that is not to say that
restraint of his would last a second more if she truly wished it broken. No, this was but one of the
many little tests she had in store for him, to see how much she could prod at him.

"Is zat it?" asked Fleur, while his eyes fully focused back onto hers. "You look, but you do not
touch. Why? Ah, perhaps you wait for an invitation, a special summoning, just for you? Well zen,
'arry," her fingernails scratched at his scalp as she suddenly yanked him towards her and his mouth,
with all of its warmth, was upon her, "you 'ave it."

So inexperienced, so eager - a boy indeed.

"Kiss me," she teased and then her face broke into a wide smile, as she gave out a gasp of delight at
the sensation of his tongue protruding past his lips and into her. It was a pleasure of sorts, but it
wasn't enough. Not for what she intended. She set her hips in motion yet again, grinding her
dripping slit against his mouth, his nose, his chin...

"Deeper," she commanded and he obliged her, as much as he could.

Had it been anyone else at this moment, had he not been as pure, Fleur would not have found much
pleasure in the act, as his tongue certainly didn't reach the depth that only Amy's bewitched tongue
could, but the thrill of a new conquest, his smooth surrender thus far, the eagerness on his part, the
expression of devotion on his face...

As his tongue continued to lap at her, sloppily, he stayed in place, breathing only through his nose.
Fleur couldn't help but gaze at the sight below with a trickle of caring affection: Harry's eyelids
were closed and his glasses seemed to have either fallen off or he'd taken them off on his own, and
his face... his face was stained with her fluids, which glistened in the moonlight.

That had been yet another breaking point for her and she practically shrieked as she started to buck
forward, smothering him even further with her pussy. Harry didn't fare quite well in the act as Fleur
neglected to inform him of one simple fact: she was a gusher. It may not have had the same
thickness when compared to a wizard's climax, but it more than made up for it in sheer force and
quantity. And dear Harry, whether on purpose or not, kept lapping it all up, kept taking it into his
mouth as it hit the back of his throat and went further down, until it reached his belly; the thought
of that, filling him with her own particular kind of cum and soaking him thoroughly, caused her
body to be wracked by yet another orgasm.

Twice more Fleur drenched his throat, never giving up her spot atop his face, uncaring whether he
felt filled to the brim, the only thing that mattered was her own release. Perhaps it was due to the
fact that he never complained, never backed away from her sopping pussy, and only kept renewing
his efforts in pleasing her each time she reached her peak. His hands had long since abandoned their
position on the pillow and his palms rested on her derrière, pushing her even further into him, as if
such a thing was possible to accomplish when already all he saw, all he smelled, all he tasted was
Fleur...

But eventually, it had to end. She ceased her motions and let go off his hair, before she gently
removed his hands from her behind and let them limplessly fall down onto the bed. Fleur then slid
off from her perched up place and settled herself next to Harry, to lie on his right side, just slightly
above him, while he took the granted opportunity to breathe more properly (if a tad bit loud) with
his mouth. Fleur couldn't help but smile as she caressed his face, so thoroughly infused with her
scent that she needn't have come close at all to scent it, but did it all the same, licking around his
swollen lips with her tongue, occasionally teasing him with a probing, once or twice, inside his
mouth. Her hand had moved from his face, down his chest, where she idly traced circles with her
fingernails, occasionally sliding across his hardened little nipples. For a moment, and no more, she
toyed with the idea of settling her face on his chest, teasing him further with her mouth, but
discarded it in the very next one.

"You did so well, 'arry," murmured Fleur to him, kissing him on the top of his head, and just
coincidentally so, aligned one of her breasts with his mouth. "You deserve a reward. Go on zen,"
she teased, "you seemed eager before."

Harry looked at her, as if waking from a daydream's daze, but all the same acknowledged her
words with a feverish need.

Just like a hungry babe's, Harry's mouth found itself wrapped around her right nipple, suckling on
her teat, as though there was milk in the soft flesh to be drained dry. He closed his eyes once again,
hiding those pretty green eyes from Fleur, though she didn't mind, and pulled at her breast, fingers
quickly settling as he pressed around it, trying to stuff his greedy little mouth with more than it was
possible. It was pure instinct, no doubt, which made him so very good at the act he had only
performed when he was but a baby himself, and that same instinct had him curl towards Fleur, one
leg finding its way between the two of hers as his knee gently rocked back and forth against the
wetness of the gap. Fleur appreciated the attention, and rewarded him with a soothing scratching at
the back of his scalp, all the while uttering words in French, that sounded so pure and mellow, yet
were anything but; they were promises of things to come, promises of what she'd do to him, the
madness she'd wake within him, the sting of pleasure and pain he'd come to know, the well of
sweetest of tortures she'd have him come to love.

Yet as one hand cradled his head and soothed him, the other had started moving further from his
chest and down below, until it reached the stiff organ with which she'd have Harry play a most
delightful tune of pleas and moans and gasps.

It didn't take long for her to work him to completion, for him to cover her hand and his own belly
in pungent seed, and he'd moaned into the flesh of her breast upon the first spurt, and the second,
and the third... all the way until the eighth rope of cum erupted from the slit of his cock-head,
plastering both hers and his skin in pearly-white fluids.

Fleur chose to push him further into her body, as he was before, so that he could see nothing that
was not of her, as her hand continued to apply pressure and motion against his cock, the Allure
serving as a decent substitute, preventing the pliant flesh from turning flaccid. Harry gasped, from
pain, as Fleur continued stroking his cock, past the tip of pleasure, just as she'd done earlier in the
night, and she grinned when he tried moving away from her breast, no doubt wanting to tell her to
stop.

But that was not his choice. He no longer had any. He should have realized as much when he first
allowed her into his life, let alone when he proved such a willing recipient of her passions. All
choices, all thoughts, all that he had of his body and mind and soul, all of it belonged to Fleur now.
The sooner he realized that, the better.

And if not? Well, let none say Fleur didn't enjoy a challenge, and breaking Harry Potter apart,
tearing all that he was down into ruin, and then sculpting him anew into what she wished to see...
that was mere child's play, and she was a grown woman now, her cravings and urges far more
malevolent and taxing on her would-be-lover than that what her child-self once had.

He surprised her when he in fact did manage to dislodge the breast from his mouth and gasp out,
"Fleur, please... it hurts."

It gave her great pleasure to hear that and she increased the pace of her stroking, turning into a jack-
hammering speed, his cock growing harder, more swollen, by the second, the rush of blood finally
allowing her to ease off with the Allure.

"I know, mon cher, I know. Endure it, for me," said Fleur, kissing him on the brow yet again as she
started humming a song, her own juices trickling out of her pussy and onto the bed and Harry. "Just
a bit more, just a bit more," she reassured him.

He cried and those eyes of his were brighter for it, as they gained an almost ethereal green shine,
before he chose to hide his face and pressed it against her breast once more, perhaps finding some
comfort in suckling at Fleur's flesh. Yet just as she continually increased the pace and the firmness
of the grip on his cock, so too did Harry grow more feral in his tending to her breasts. Where but
moments ago he suckled in vain for sweet milk that would never come, Fleur felt teeth start to
graze against her skin, until they clamped down on her breast in such brute force she gushed once
more between her legs, soaking the bed even more than it was before. She cried out in delight at
such an unexpected reaction from the little boy, proving to her that her dalliances with him provide
much entertainment and that surrender might not be so easily acquired.

Then again, what was easily gained, was also easily ignored. No, she'd wrest it away from him. All
of it. All that he held dear.

Until there was naught but thoughts of her in his mind. Until his heart beat for her. Until his soul
shone for her and her alone.

Until all that he was, and all that he was to become, would be imprinted with the madness that was
Fleur Delacour.

And soon enough, just as she promised him, the night's passions were done with and finally over.

Harry Potter succumbed to sleep only moments after being made to clean the mess that they made
together, with his own tongue.

He slept peacefully - despite all - his back turned to the front of the Veela, whose soft breasts
pressed into his shoulderblades, whom hummed with content and pleasure, having had her new
lover tested and proven capable of surviving a minutia of her harsh loving, her talons-turned-hands
petting him all over as one might a beloved pet.

Her eyes had reverted to midnight-blue only moments before she too fell into slumber.

Fleur had such wonderful dreams that night: of a green-eyed boy, naked as the day he was born, on
his knees before her.

He had no idea how much of a temptation he was to her.

Even while he just slept there, naked beneath the duvet. His skin had a scent to it, a certain depth
she had yet to fully explore. It was not the body of an average fourteen-year-old boy, not even for a
wizarding one. No, he had nothing which would set him above his peers, or seniors, in terms of
physical stature, in tone of muscle or its definition, and even if he had that never drew her interest
to anyone in the first place. Had Harry Potter been awake, no doubt he would have been startled by
the proximity of Fleur Delacour, who'd taken to delicately sniffing his naked skin, taking in the
scent which laid atop his: hers.

She didn't fear him waking up all of a sudden, the little boy was bone-tired, exhausted beyond what
any other could have done to him, driven to the brink of oblivion by Fleur's insatiable nature.

You poor, poor boy, you couldn't have anticipated any of last night, could you? Sweet litte Harry,
all mine now, and you've yet to grasp upon the fact. You will, soon enough.

He'd been so desperate for his own release the first time around, so eager and so pliable to
whatever she thought of.

Fleur thanked the Fates, truly, for giving her such a wonderful night; she hadn't dared to imagine
any of it could happen so soon, so much, at all. But that little jealous bitch of a muggleborn made it
all possible, while trying in vain to warn her friend away from Fleur, never realizing how deep she
had sunk her claws into Harry Potter, even before the night of the Yule Ball.

Oh he tried, the foolish boy that he was, he tried resisting, but in the end Fleur's manipulations had
won out.

Minute after minute, hour after hour, day after day, she layered the Allure on top of his whole
being. Other, more arrogant and less intelligent, Veelas might have assaulted him with the ferocity
of a firestorm, overwhelming his pleasure centers, making him succumb too swiftly, but where was
the achievement in that, when she could have the far more pleasing, willing submission? Where
was the joy in shattering his dignity and pride, rather than watch him strip it of his own free will,
for her?

However, Fleur was not that quick to underestimate the boy, despite the events of the night which
led them to her room. After all, he had endured her Allure well enough without any previous
exposure, staving off his own self-satisfaction for unbearable minutes until Fleur finally let him go
to seek it out in the first available spot. Once, and that was by far her favorite memory of him so
far, Harry had not made it in time and she watched him Disillusioned from a small distance away as
he leaned his front against a wall, legs trembling beneath his robes, hand lost beneath the cloth,
before he left a trail of white on the floor.

She craved him, deeply. To take him there, to appear from behind, snake one arm around his waist,
while the other rose up to caress the skin of neck, to lean his head to the side so that she might
leave her mark on him. It was unbearable, horribly so.

Ever since from the first kiss she bestowed upon him, she had not allowed Amy and Dannielle back
into her bed, not even for simple sleep-overs. She didn't dare, there lied temptation, and she wished
to save all of it for Harry. All of her frustration, all of her lust. Solely for him to endure, to
persevere through and learn to enjoy, as both of her friends had learned in years past.

Poor Harry thought he had it bad, but he knew nothing of Fleur's own struggles, knew nothing of
how fragile the smiles she wore were in fact, how easy her whole image could crack at any
moment, given the right (or wrong) reasons.

He'd witnessed only a minute fraction of what slumbered within Fleur, just a trickle of the
savageness that lurked beneath.

As her hand slowly and gently stroked his hair, she thought of how much more she had yet to show
him.

Just as her thoughts started turning towards things best left for night-time, she heard a knocking on
the door, which caused her to suppress a groan.

Amy and Dannielle, no doubt. Perhaps they think to ask me how the night had passed for me?
Now, won't this be a rather delightful surprise for them? And for Harry, as well. Well, I planned on
getting them introduced to each other properly, no sense in wasting an opportunity when one so
readily presents itself.
Grinning, from ear to ear, and watching how her young lover slowly stirred towards awakening as
he mumbled about something, Fleur took her wand from the night-stand and removed the spells for
entry, but not privacy, from the door. A moment later in came her two most trusted of friends and
companions, their faces sporting grins of their own. The door shut behind them and was resealed
again, preventing any others, save Madame Maxime, from gaining an audience with Fleur.

Amy started to open her mouth, no doubt a question in regards to Fleur's disappearance from last
night, but then she saw the smaller, seemingly naked form next to Fleur's rather blatantly nude
body and the way that Fleur smiled, well... it said enough.

"Oh you wicked, wicked girl," whispered Amy, in French, as she came closer. She shushed
Dannielle before she said anything and fully waked the boy. Amy pulled her away by the arm and
settled them on a sofa some small distance from the large bed.

"I wasn't all that wicked," muttered Fleur in her mock-defense, pearly-whites in an all-out display,
her right arm finding its way around Harry's midsection, pulling him in closer to her - something to
which he responded unconsciously and folded into her - an instinctive act of stating her possession,
even for her two friends, who'd never try anything so silly as to take him away.

Danielle, for her part, giggled like a young schoolgirl. "Not all that wicked? Fleur, do take a look at
his neck and say that again."

Fleur did so and then her face contorted into mock-contrition, as though she was ashamed of the
rather obvious love-bites she left on him, when in truth all three of them knew Fleur loved nothing
more than leaving some form of mark on her lovers.

Amy chose to intercede then as she took to sniffing the air. "You minx! How many times?"

Fleur gave her the answer when she raised a number of fingers on her hand.

Amy smiled, while Danni shook her head in amusement. "Three? Then how come the bed covers
are dry?"

Fleur shrugged it off. "Vanishing charm and..." Fleur grinned. "Well, not much had managed to
slip past his mouth."

Her friends had to press the palms of their hands against their mouths to contain the laughter that
threatened to erupt.

"Oh shush," said Fleur, "he asked for it himself. Well, not in those words exactly, but he did offer
to return the favor."

"The favor?" asked Amy. "What did you do, Fleur?"

"A bit of handiwork, out in the courtyard, a bit of fluid swapping, nothing more." When Amy raised
an eyebrow, Fleur responded with, "Don't look at me like that, he brought it up himself. I never
would have said a word about it if he hadn't."

"And you, naturally," said Danni, "just felt like you had to oblige, yes? Not like that threatened to
turn into a proper rut."

"Almost," Fleur whispered, her eyes darkening just by a shade, for a moment, brought there by the
urge to indulge yet again.

"Almost?" repeated Dannielle, looking a tad concerned, though whether for the young wizard or
her friend, none could tell.

"Not all the way," Fleur reassured her, "half, at worst." She directed an accusatory stare at Danni.
"Do you think me so feeble?"

Dannielle admonished her. "Don't be stupid, of course not. I have a right to be worried for a friend,
don't I?"

Fleur sighed. "Apologies, Danni, just a bit... twitchy, at the moment."

"Understandable," Danni nodded, "you've, after all, just taken a new lover, and he hasn't even
vacated your bed yet."

"Nor would I have him do so at all," murmured Fleur, her arm-hold tightening around Harry.

"I think people, specifically the Hogwarts headmaster, might object to such a notion, Fleur." Amy
looked vaguely amused at her friend. "Tell me, what time do you think it is?" When Fleur
shrugged, Amy said, "It's almost noon, Fleur. People will be asking questions. They'll be looking
for him. Do you want them intruding into your relationship, so soon?"

Almost instantly, Fleur's face turned from pleased to scowling. "That's none of their business. I am
of age and he... he is no simple-minded child that was led astray. Neither of us are toddlers to be
coddled and watched over. Both of us are champions of the Tri-Wizard Tournament," Fleur
intoned, eyes aflame, "and we have proven that we are worthy of our wands."

Rather than decrease the passion infusing her friend, Amy had only inflamed it. She knew Fleur's
bad moods intimately well.

"Fleur, no one's saying that. All the same, people will wonder where he is." Amy then chose to
look around the room before she said, "And now I must wonder something myself. Where are your
clothes, Fleur?" with just a bit of teasing tone.

The French witch had no shame and only smiled, even laughed a tad loud, stirring Harry Potter
further from his slumber.

"Gone, I'm afraid," said Fleur with no small amount of cheer. "Just another victim of passions from
last night."

And just about as Amy was to inquire further into the matter, another's voice was heard.

"Fleur?"

All three pairs of eyes turned towards Harry Potter, who blinked rather slowly, his glasses perched
atop his nose, back from whatever place he misplaced them the night before. He seemed to be
taking in the sights, as it were.

"Yes, 'arry?" asked Fleur, a grin spreading across her face.

"This isn't a dream, is it?"

"My oh my, Mr. Potter, what kind of dreams do you have to think this might be one of them?"
asked Amy in perfect English.

Like a mole burrowing into the ground for safety, so did Harry retreat beneath the duvet, not even
his head left peaking. He had even completely escaped from Fleur's armhold around him, a feat
achieved by the suddenness of his actions.

All three witches burst into peals of laughter and for a moment there Fleur pondered whether to
unveil her lover briskly, by pulling the cover away from him, but then decided to be merciful. He'd
already done much for her the night before, the least she could do to him was repay the favor in
kind. So she chose to pull it down just enough to reveal his head.

"Come now, 'arry, zeese are my friends. No need to feel embarrassed, I certainly don't and I'm
dressed for company as much as you are." Harry turned his head around for a moment and seemed
to take full appraisal of the situation, for Fleur was indeed nude, breasts completely exposed,
without regard for her friends sitting there, fully dressed in their Beauxbatons robes.

"Fleur!" said Harry, panic in his tone. Such was his level of concern that all three witches thought
something truly awful happened, but then they saw Harry's hand partially reach out for Fleur's
breast and then retreat at the last moment, shying away from touch, while spots of red bloomed
most vividly across his cheeks. Only then did the witches see the cause for his concern: around
Fleur's left nipple were teeth-marks, red and rather glaring when offset by the surrounding white
skin.

She could have toyed with him if she wished to do so, but Fleur chose not to. She laughed instead
and took to wrapping her arm yet again around him, this time across his back, while laying her
hand on the back of his head, before she kissed him quite thoroughly. For a minute or two, both of
them forgot about their guests, and nearly started recreating the stage of last night.

Amy cleared her throat and the lovers separated, with no small amount of reluctance.

"As amusing as that was, I believe proper introductions would be in order, Fleur."

"Spoilsport," said Fleur, sticking out her tongue playfully. "Zis insufferable wench, 'arry, is Amy
Dubois, my very first friend since I enrolled in Beauxbatons." Harry nodded his head in Amy's
direction, red in his cheeks again. "And ze redheaded mute would be Dannielle Fay, a distant
cousin of mine, but a friend all ze same. Ladies," said Fleur mockingly, "my lover, 'arry Potter."

As predicted, the word 'lover' had him turning around again and looking at Fleur in wonder, as
though last night had not happened and he just happened to lay naked in her bed by accident. He
seemed to have been lost for words.

"What?" asked Fleur with a raised eyebrow. "Are you not my lover or does zat title insult you
somehow?"

"I... I..." Harry faltered, at first, before a grin spread across his face, "I guess I am now, aren't I?"

Fleur joined in sharing his grin, as did Amy and Danni, before Fleur's face took on a somewhat
lustful expression.

"Bon, I believe I have somezzing to repay from last night. A certain faux pas on my part?"

"A what now?" asked Harry, obviously confused.

"I promised lessons, but failed to deliver, and zen I took advantage of you, 'arry. I feel quite bad,"
pouted Fleur.

"Oh!" said Harry. "I didn't mind, Fleur, really! I.. I think I learned a lot."

Amy chose to intrude on the lovebirds with a quip. "Care to share with the rest of the class?"
Harry somehow managed to give out: "No, thanks," without a blush reappearing on his face.

But Fleur was feeling rather mischievous and wanted to see just how far she could push her lover.
She submerged herself beneath the covers and pushed Harry, until he sat right up, the pillow
propped up against the headboard and Harry himself pressed against it. He struggled to pull the
duvet higher up, to cover himself, but Fleur didn't allow him, instead choosing to move her head to
his lap, where she took to distracting him with the aid of her mouth and tongue, rather effectively
so.

Amy and Dannielle didn't restrain their laughter this time. How could they, really, when Harry's
face shifted so swiftly from one expression to another: surprise to embarrassment to pleasure to
shame to delight to lust and so on and so on...

Fleur was grateful that he had just recently awoken, for his cock did not require much tending to,
having already been sitting upright ever since he spotted Amy and Dannielle, along with Fleur's
naked body pressed to him from behind. She didn't waste her time on rousing it from any sort of
daze and while her hands rolled his hairless sack in the palm of her hand, her mouth had come to
envelope his whole member. She set her tongue to work, swirling it around the cock-head, just as
her pouty lips pressed around the girth, squeezing in one moment and then widening in the next.
When she brought her face low, with her nostrils flared, Fleur felt herself being slightly tickled by
the few black hairs above his cock.

His legs, upon which she laid across, tried pushing her away for a few moments (in vain) before he
stopped resisting altogether, and Fleur raised her head up the length of his cock, leaving its slit just
brushing against her mouth as she blew soft, small breaths against it, absolutely adoring the way
the organ throbbed with need and desperation. Really, he was putty in her hands.

She descended again, her pace increasing just by a little, her head bobbing up and down as her
tongue continued lathering her spit all over Harry's cock.

However, Fleur didn't even have time to properly tease the many, many moans she desired to hear
from him, as she found Harry erupting just as her face met his crotch for the ninth time. Some, but
not all, of his cum hit straight at the back of her throat and she took to swallowing the bitter load,
her tongue guiding the rest to pool just in the front of her mouth.

When she rose from beneath the covers, letting them fall back, uncovering them entirely, Harry
was far too much overtaken by the surprise of the act, the pleasure and her swiftness at it, that he
didn't respond at first when she pressed a kiss to his lips.

But when her tongue pushed out some of that bitterness that she saved up just for him, Harry
finally responded, his own tongue plunging into Fleur's mouth, their mutual saliva mixing with his
own thick and heavy cum. Both of them moaned at the exchange and each took a portion of Harry's
release into their mouths, down their throats, and straight into their stomachs.

Needless to say, Fleur was pleasantly surprised at how acquiescing Harry was at accepting such an
exchange and thus had not minded in the slightest when his hands had come to rest on Fleur's head,
pushing her further down onto his mouth.

What a strange boy you are, Harry Potter. There I was, thinking and plotting on how to trick you,
how to condition and bribe, if need be, and you've shown yourself so willing to do as I wished, even
in front of people who were strangers to you only minutes ago. I was right - as always - you will be
a magnificent lover.

The two lovers were temporarily oblivious of what their actions wrought to their two observers.
Dannnielle's underwear had grown wetter than it was only minutes ago and Amy's robes even more
so, as she had foregone wearing underwear of any sorts on that morn; a mistake as it turned out.
She really should have known better.

So they watched them: two lovers lost to the world, pressed so firmly against one another that save
for the markings on each of their respective bodies and the stark contrast of their hair colors, you
could not tell where one began and the other ended.

Fleur broke it off, after a while, long past since they swallowed the last remnant of Harry's climax,
contending to rest her forehead against his, grinning lazily, flicking out her tongue every now and
again at his mouth, teasing him without thought.

"Am I forgiven for ze events of last night?" asked Fleur in a breathy voice.

Harry's response came slow, but no less sure for it, and in that same breathy tone. "There's nothing
to forgive."

Just when Fleur was about to lunge towards him yet again, both Amy and Dannielle cleared their
throats, bringing them both back to the world they shared with others. Sadly, that also reminded
Harry of who had just witnessed such an obscene act and how he was completely bared for them to
see. He almost managed to dive under the covers, content to hide away until the world perished or
his deeds were forgotten, whichever came first, but Fleur wouldn't allow him.

"No," said Fleur, one hand firmly holding onto the duvet, pulling it away from him, while the other
hand's palm pressed hard against Harry's chest, keeping him in place and in plain sight of their
guests. "I am not ashamed, and neizzer should you be."

"But Fleur —"

"But what?"

"They saw us," whispered Harry, as though they couldn't hear.

Fleur's glare softened and her hand moved from his chest, up to his face. "Yes, zey did. And I still
say I feel no shame. Zey are my friends, 'arry." She smiled. "Zey are witches, like me. Do you zink
we never shared a bazzroom or a shower?"

He shook his head. "No, no, that's different. You're you, Fleur, I'm... I'm me," Harry weakly
finished, with a faltering grin.

With a swiftness a snake would envy, Fleur's hand struck, the evidence of its passing left in the red
on Harry's cheek.

"You are my lover and I am not ashamed. Do you think yourself repulsive? You are not. Would I
'ave taken you to my bed if you were? Non. So stop wiz... wiz zis foolishness, 'arry! Look at zem,
just once."

When he did look at them, he seemed so surprised that their faces showed nothing but friendliness
and smiles.

Was he expecting scorn? Disgust? With Fleur's friends, he would never come across either of those
sentiments, so long as he stayed true to her. Fleur took advantage of his momentary distraction and
brought him forwards, right into her arms, while she pressed tender kisses to the skin of his neck,
brushing her lips where numerous love-bites lingered behind.
"Repressed, you are so very repressed, 'arry," muttered Fleur, good naturedly. "We must work on
correcting zis."

"Don't worry," said Dannielle, speaking for the first time, with only the slightest of accents, "you're
among friends now."

"We can keep a secret," said Amy. "Besides, do you really think it's the first time for any of us to
see a naked boy?"

He proceeded to mumble something to himself, and only Fleur heard, which had her in a small fit
of giggling.

"No, most certainly not," said Fleur. "Vairy well, we shall keep your privates... private?" Another
burst of giggling, this time from all three witches. "But zere is a problem, 'arry: I 'ave no clothes to
offer you, save some of my own."

And while the idea certainly seemed like a great deal of fun for Fleur and her friends, Harry opted
for another route.

One farewell kiss and a slap on his pert little behind later, Harry Potter vanished from sight and left
the room behind.

When the door finally closed behind him and was resealed yet again, Amy said, "Your lover is an
intriguing wizard, Fleur."

"It would seem so," said Fleur, more to herself than her friends, as she turned away from the door
and joined her friends.

She would have transfigured some of her own clothes for him, if he had but asked, but Harry had
chosen instead to summon a fairly odd looking, even for its kind, house elf, who bobbed its head so
strongly it seemed like it might leap from his shoulders. The house elf was adorned in all sorts of
socks, scarves and hats, and each seemed to be in clashing different colors.

When it finally calmed down, and some charade of introductions had been made, Harry had asked
the creature to fetch him some clothes - robes and underwear - along with his cloak. At first Fleur
wondered why he had need of a cloak when he could simply use his wand (which they'd eventually
found underneath the bed) for warming charms. But when said cloak was brought and Harry, a
silly grin adorning his face, put it on, all three of them understood its true purpose and value.

Had they awoken at an earlier time, Fleur might have asked him to stay a while longer, and gotten
him more at ease with Amy and Dannielle, though what transpired wasn't all that bad either. He
certainly seemed to have adapted fast in the situation at hand. Though it was a shame he'd had
enough presence of a mind to take a shower before getting dressed. Fleur would have preferred him
to go unwashed and reeking of her scent for all who came close to him. No matter, the love-bites
would suffice.

Not that any witch would doubt who had placed such markings on him, but Fleur planned to drive
the lesson home, hard. And after that was taken care of, she would start pushing the boundaries
with Harry, one in particular. For that she needed...

"What are you thinking about, Fleur, that's got you smiling?" asked Amy.

Fleur could almost feel her juices flowing downwards again as the plan formed fully in her mind.
"Tell me Amy, is there anything left from the last batch of potions that you and Dannielle
brewed?"

"Which potion specifically?" asked Danni, intrigued by where Fleur was going with this.

Fleur wet her lips once, dragging her tongue across her lips in slow motion, before she answered,
"Polyjuice."

"You'd make such a move so soon?" inquired Amy, only slightly uncertain on whether it could be
accomplished.

"If there had been no need for him to leave my room today," said Fleur, "I'd have done it already,
consequences be damned."

Danni, insightful as ever, was careful about how she phrased her thoughts aloud, as from her spot
on the sofa, she could already see small trickles of the change on Fleur's face, summoned there by
mere thoughts of the boy.

"You desire him that greatly?"

Her eyes had darkened. "More," growled Fleur, before she put her face in her hands. Her voice was
unsteady, wavering between bouts of words hissed through clenched teeth and meek, soft whispers,
never meant to be heard by any other than those closest to Fleur. "You've no concept of what he's
like to me as he is now. Pure. Do you understand that? Pure and untouched and unclaimed. Even
with what I've done to him. The Allure can hold him in my presence only so long as he wants it
himself. He is still unfettered, still fair game for any bitch that might wander close by and decide
she wants him as hers."

Both Amy and Danni felt uncomfortable. It wasn't often they saw this side of Fleur, and they didn't
think anyone but them ever did to start with. She was torn in her desires, torn between her wants
and needs and despair and rage. Truth be told, they'd only seen her once before like that: back when
she was betrayed for the first time back when she thought to raise a boy above all others, take him
and make him as close to an equal that she could. That betrayal had given birth to uncertainty, a
thing most ill fitting for one alike Fleur. It was weakness, plain and simple, and weakness was to be
abhorred.

Amy's hands parted Fleur's, moving them away from her face, before she took to embracing her
friend, giving her the much needed support, and in that she was joined by Dannielle from the other
side.

Each of Fleur's friends came to rest their heads on her shoulders, their hands stroking her beautiful
hair.

"You know that's not true," began Dannielle, "in his mind, there can be no other. Only —"

"— you, Fleur, and no other." Amy finished. She took to smiling and pressed that smile against
Fleur's bare skin.

"Didn't you see how he barely noticed Danni or me sitting in the room? His eyes were glued to you
all along." Then she chuckled. "Of course, neither me nor Danni had our tits hanging out, so there's
that."

She knew she'd said the right thing the moment she felt Fleur shaking beneath her, before laughter
bubbled out of her throat and filled the room with its sound. She was quick to grab her friends'
hands and press light kisses on them, giving her gratitude in familiar ways to them. Fleur then
chose to disentangle herself from the twin embrace and laid her back against the sofa, closing her
eyes and fondly reminiscing about certain parts of last night.

"Oh and he was a delight in that too," said Fleur, her hand ghosting across her (now clothed) left
teat, where the ache still managed to linger, an echo of his feral attentions, mimicking the cruelty
she first displayed in her treatment of him.

Cruel to be kind, Harry.

"You loved it," teased Danni.

"And he loved it too, no doubt," said Amy. "Now then, shall we get back to the matter of hand,
Fleur? Polyjuice, you said?"

She breathed in deeply, before opening her eyes and responding. "Yes, Polyjuice. How much of it
do you have left?"

"How much do you need?"

Her eyes fleeted from Amy to Danni and back, a smile spreading across her angelic features. "Two
doses should suffice, I think."

Amy found herself fighting a grin, with Danni not caring in the slightest, lust brazenly displayed on
her face.

"Just two?"

Fluer nodded. "For now... but there's no reason not to be prepared in advance. Could you brew
another batch?"

"Anything for you, Fleur," said Amy.

"Good!" said Fleur, with great enthusiasm, her cheerful mood infecting her friends. "We have
much to plan then."

All three witches' faces bore smiles, the likes of which might have had their intended mark running
for the proverbial hills, had he but known what they planned for him. Or not. Who but Harry
himself knew how he would have reacted? Fleur hoped he would put up a struggle, up to a certain
degree, resisting her ploys, as he resisted her Allure in the days before the ball, yet at the same time
she wanted him subservient, obeying and listening to her every whim, no matter how frivolous or
audacious it might have seemed. Such was the conflicting duality, the nature of witch and Veela,
bound in one form together.

In her heart of hearts, Fleur knew one thing with absolute certainty: she would come to possess
Harry Potter, regardless of the state of his mind and body, and he would love her for it, as was her
due, her right and - that frailest thing of all - her hope.
 To be taken and to take a Veela

It wasn't the first time that worried him, nor the second.

The first time he'd just about lost his mind and sanity in the midst of all that pleasure that Fleur
wrought unto him.

The second time, he'd have done anything, no matter what it took, no matter what she asked, to slip
into the oblivion of dreams. She was so fucking beautiful, fingers dipping into puddles of white,
her dabbing them across those pouty lips of hers and then kissing him... fingers dipped again and
again until he sucked them into his mouth and cleaned them dry, lapped at them with his tongue...
crawling down and nuzzling his face against the muscles of her flat stomach, taking in the musk of
his release, even as he sucked it in between his lips, even as he came close to her labia, the mound
of it covered in streaks of cum, reeking of him, reeking of her... Merlin, he was so utterly fucked up
he'd have done anything, anything at all she wanted of him, just to be done and over with the
madness, just to sleep and dream of Fleur and her sweet, delicious cunt.

The third time, however, was all on him. He'd opened his mouth, knowing what Fleur stored in
hers, knowing the thick cream that fell from her mouth and into his was his own cum, and he'd
done more than merely accept it. He'd sought it out. His tongue had plunged into her mouth, he'd
been the eager puppy, practically gagging for it, loving every second while Fleur pressed herself
against him harder, feeding him and humming from joy all along. In those moments, Harry cared
very little for any sense of propriety, for maintaining any shred of dignity. He only wanted to feel
Fleur's maddening desire for him.

I wanted her to want me.

And Fleur most certainly did.

The sweet ache in his neck's tendons and the soreness of his cock was proof enough.

She sucked me off in front of her friends, mused Harry in the privacy of his mind and felt his cock
stiffen at the thought.

Fleur was without shame, without remorse and... without a limit. He knew, without truly knowing
how, that if he had no obligations outside of that room, he'd have stayed locked up with her until
there was nothing left of him but a dry husk.

If he let them, these thoughts would plague him for the whole day, and more, which was not
something he could allow. Not when he was supposed to finally get out of the boys' bathroom in
Gryffindor Tower and drag himself to the great hall for lunch.

Ron had a bit of a fit when Harry popped out of thin air in the middle of their dorm, though
thankfully no one else was there. Subsequently, Ron was the first person to see his rather
blemished neck, and then he tried and failed to contain his laughter. Still, Harry supposed him
being amused by it wasn't all that bad. However, Ron's pique of laughter brought attention to them.

Dean and Seamus came in to see what was going on, only for Seamus to start howling and wolf-
whistling at the sight of Harry.

"Blimey, mate, she's done a proper job on you, hasn't she? We were wondering where you were at
breakfast," said Seamus, grinning, "but I suppose you had better things to do than eat."
"I was sleeping," muttered Harry, somewhat defensively. "Slept 'till noon or so." He hoped the
answer would make the overtly cheerful and perky Irish boy go away and bother someone else.
Sadly, it proved otherwise.

Seamus howled again and then he laughed, with Dean joining in. "Had a nooner then? Go on,
mate, tell us: is she fit?"

What little good mood Harry had evaporated entirely with Seamus' continued intrusion into his
privacy.

"Oh just piss off already, Seamus," said Ron, surprising all three of them. Seamus' mouth was
agape. "What? Lavender leave you high and dry last night, so you're going on about scrounging for
other people's scraps? Now that's low."

Things only escalated from there. Harry had to step in once it seemed wands would be drawn,
though it looked like Ron was itching for a fight, no matter what the cause. Eventually, Seamus
and Dean left the dorm, in a much darker mood, and Harry was left with Ron, quite confused with
how he acted in front of the others. And then, just a moment later, he understood.

"You don't have to do that," said Harry.

Ron visibly tensed before he replied, "Yes, I do," in a quiet voice, his eyes avoiding Harry's. "I've
been a piss poor excuse for a friend since this whole thing started."

Harry came up to him, swiftly, and clasped him on the shoulder. "It doesn't matter. None of it does.
Really, Ron, it was just a minor hiccup, nothing more. Besides, I'd prefer having my friend back
rather than a Crabbe or a Goyle of my own."

Ron shuddered, and all signs of stiffness from his posture vanished, his shoulders shaking with
mirth. "That did the job, thanks a lot. But still..." Ron gnawed at his lip for a few moments, before
his eyes finally met Harry's. "What about Hermione?"

His mood shifted again. What about Hermione indeed?

"What about Luna?" asked Harry instead, not all that willing to sour his mood any further.

To his surprise, Ron smiled, shyly. "Luna..." he struggled for words, which weren't really his forte.
"She's absolutely barmy, but at the same time, she's got this, this.. ah, I don't know what it is! But
she's brilliant! And she k-" Ron started to say, but suddenly cut himself off, though Harry didn't
have long to guess what Ron almost said.

"And she kisses pretty well too?" he teased him further.

Ron blushed this time, right to the tip of his ears, sputtering something about not telling, though
Harry was certain he could see a small love-bite hidden behind his ear. Oh the grief he'd give him,
Ron certainly won't forget that.

Though tongues wagged all too gladly, that was still not the confirmation they sought of what they
thought had happened.

Harry could have easily done without all the attention and subtle tries at poking him for answers.
Really, did they have nothing better to do than continuously intrude into his life, over and over? It
made him weary of it all.
And only the approach of Fleur lightened the weight of his thoughts.

She appeared from somewhere behind, with her two friends accompanying her. Fleur was quick to
seat herself on the seat next to him at the Gryffindor table, while Amy and Dannielle took places of
their own, not too far away. He simply sat there, stunned at her approach. It was so refreshingly
direct. Harry might have gone on being numb of mind had Fleur not bent her head slightly lower
and placed a chaste kiss on his lips.

"Bonsoir, 'arry. Eating well, I 'ope?" asked Fleur, completely ignoring the stares aimed at the two
of them.

"Yeah," said Harry, ever so eloquently, a piece of shepherd's pie barely touched on his plate.

From somewhere, Fleur produced a fork of her own and took a slice of Harry's pie, nibbling
delicately at the end, before her face scrunched up in a form of polite distaste. "Ah, Eenglish
cuisine. I am afraid zat I am not a fan, 'arry. Too 'eavy." She turned around, wand in hand, and
performed some minute motions with her wrist as she summoned a bowl from her former seat at
the Ravenclaw table. When it settled down in front of her, Harry saw it was the very same meal she
once asked him for: bouillabaisse, a French variation on fish stew. He had to admit that the smell of
it was far more tantalizing than his pie.

Fleur saw his brief interest in her dish, the corner of her lips crinkling in a gentle smile. "Would
you like a taste?"

He shook his head and said, "Wouldn't want to deprive you of a meal you can stomach," with a
trace of amusement.

Her face assumed a haughty expression as she said, "I'll suffer zis once, if only so zat you could
taste a bit of 'eaven."

Harry felt like teasing Fleur and said, in a tone so low only she could hear: "I've already had that,
last night."

Nothing changed on her face in an instant, she still wore the same smile, her eyes remained the
same as before, but Harry felt a small change in the air, as Fleur's lust was stirred from slumber, if
it ever actually had been in one to begin with.

Her fingers lightly brushed Harry's as she removed the fork from his hand and set it aside. She
brought the bowl of bouillabaisse closer to him, holding it up in one hand, while the other handled
a small spoon that dipped into the stew and was brought up, up towards Harry's mouth, while those
around them tried and failed to be subtle with their gawking.

"Open wide," said Fleur, her lips restraining themselves from forming into a full blown grin.

Thoughts of all else were gone from his mind ever since she sat down, so what else could he do but
smile and obey?

It was a rather pleasant dinner, gawkers and all, and he fully intended on joining Fleur in some late
night strolling, and more.

Unexpected, and unwelcome as far as he was concerned, was the sudden appearance of
McGonagall at his side, just as he was about to rise from the table and join Fleur and her two
friends. A summons as it turned out, from Professor Dumbledore. Fleur lingered at the exit of the
Great Hall and looked at him inquisitively, then at the professor by his side, to which he only
shook his head in reply, uncertain of why he was being asked to see the headmaster or how long it
would take.

Fleur was gracious as ever and only inclined her head once towards Harry, her fingers touching
upon her lips as she sent him a kiss goodbye, a smile crinkling the corners of her mouth. She
departed from the hall, as had Harry, moments later.

"Ah, Harry, thank you for accommodating me at such a late hour," said Albus Dumbledore from
behind his desk, wearing yet another set of robes of garish colors, with twinkling white stars and
dangling, yellow crescent moons plastered all over.

Harry promptly seated himself in a chair and waited.

Dumbledore ran his fingers through his long, silvery beard, peering at Harry through his half-moon
glasses, a gentle, grandfatherly smile on his face. "There has been significant progress in the
investigation concerning how your name had ended up being drawn from the Goblet as the fourth
champion. Professor Moody, along with a few of Madame Bones' Aurors, have almost completed
their work and should have results before the end of January. However..."

"They know who it is then, Professor Dumbledore, the one who placed my name in the Goblet?"
asked Harry, anxiously.

The elderly wizard moved his hand away from his beard and steepled his fingers, leaning forwards
on the desk. "They have a strong suspicion about the person in question, a suspicion which will be
validated soon enough, I've no doubt. But, Harry," the smile was gone from his face, replaced by
an expression of grave concern and worry, "they have inquired as to whether we could push on
with the Tournament, so as to provoke the individual into acting when their initial plans fail."

Harry was boggled with the implication. "They want me to wait and see if I get attacked?"

"And even if the suspect does not act, they shall be persecuted, you have my word on that," intoned
Dumbledore solemnly.

Harry nodded. He had ample faith in the headmaster. "I'll sit tight and wait then, Professor. Was
that all you wanted to see me for?"

Just like that, the mood in the room shifted, as the headmaster's face once more carried a smile.

"For the moment, yes. And may I say, Harry, you've done splendid work in the Tournament."

He ducked his head, shy from receiving praise from the most esteemed wizard in all of Britain.
"Thank you, Professor."

"And Harry," Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled, "I congratulate you upon reaching such a high
level of cooperation with Miss Delacour. That is, after all, the purpose of the Tri-Wizard
Tournament, to engender friendships with foreign witches and wizards. Though, I trust, you have
remained the utmost gentleman with the Beauxbatons champion?"

Blushing to the tip of his ears, Harry could only mumble his reply, "Yes, Professor, I have to go
now, sir, curfew and all," almost tripping over himself in his hurry to leave the headmaster's office
and avoid the talk about Hippogriffs and Thestrals.

With the doors closed behind him, he never heard the hearty, echoing chuckle of Albus
Dumbledore.
Much of the next few days Harry had spent in the company of Fleur and her two friends - sadly, an
event the likes of the one from the night of the ball had yet be repeated, much to Harry's
disappointment - though at first he'd been somewhat wary, and embarrassed, of meeting Amy and
Danni properly. The two French witches were quick to reassure him that what they witnessed was a
matter that concerned only him and Fleur, and no other.

Though that is not to say they did not tease him, directing smirks and grins his way every now and
again.

Then came the first Hogsmeade weekend. Harry had naturally asked Fleur if she'd like to come
along and explore Britain's fully-fledged wizarding village and all its shops and stops. In hindsight,
he shouldn't have mentioned shops, but his experience with witches thus far hadn't been anything
like the one with Fleur, so he could be forgiven for thinking that his offer only included a shop or
two before they settled in the Three Broomsticks for a Butterbeer.

Hogsmeade was quite a different place when one ventured there for a date, he'd found out. All of a
sudden, Harry had noticed shops he hadn't before, ventured inside and lingered for quite a while,
when Fleur wished to take a gander at the wares they had for sale. And though there were tedious
parts - what did he really care to learn of perfumes or jewelry, let alone the myriad of scents and all
the shades and tints of colors - there were parts he rather enjoyed.

Such as when Fleur took to trying out new robes and other clothing, before parading it in front of
him, while he tried to hide his too obvious reaction from her. Fleur being Fleur noticed it all the
same and only teased him further with a brushing of her lips against his or by running her fingers
down the back of his neck, while she asked for his opinion on the latest dress, staring into his eyes,
her own filled to the brim with pent-up lust. Sadly enough, there were annoyances to it too, such as
when the shopkeeper decided to pop in out of nowhere and ask Fleur this or that, thus preventing
Harry from fully enjoying himself.

"Come, come, 'arry, you mustn't fret so much," said Fleur from inside the changing room. He
heard a rustle of clothing as she tried out some new robes. "After all, I find myself lacking a razzer
expensive dress robe, and zat, mon cher, is all your fault."

"My fault?" he asked, slightly bewildered as he recalled the exact details of how she came to lose
her robes, and his as well.

"Oui," said Fleur, "after all, you were ze one who wanted to return ze favor, non? And speaking of
favors..."

A hand reached out from the changing room, grabbed him by the collar of his robes and pulled him
in, where he was treated to a most pleasing sight: Fleur standing in nothing but her underwear,
minus the bra - which she never seemed to wear at all.

She was quick to press herself against him, her face close to his, her mouth blowing warm breath
against the shell of his ear and the skin of his neck. "I have a most pressing need of you, 'arry, and I
do hope you will oblige."

Her fingers circled his wrist and brought his hand down, between her legs, where he felt a wet spot
forming.

"See what you do to me, with your pretty leetle eyes and zerr gaze," she breathed out into his ear,
her hand in motion, guiding his fingers across the now damp cloth, and growing damper by the
second. "Will you do zis for me, mon cher? I would razzer avoid staining any of ze robes I have
here, and if left unattended, who knows what might happen, in full view of ozzers?"
Before Harry had a chance to reply, she started suckling on his earlobe, letting out the smallest of
moans as his fingers crooked inwards, by happenstance. He'd thought, at first, to tell Fleur that
now was neither the time nor the place for such things, but he felt a familiar fog descend on the
part of his mind which governed reason, and was promptly lost to lust.

It wasn't all that long before he was on his knees and Fleur above him, her underwear pulled aside
and his face buried in her wet folds. The mind-numbing mist was gone, all too easily replaced by
the heady scent of Fleur's cunt and the sweet, nectar-like juices which kept pouring out on his
tongue, which Harry valiantly tried to bury as deep as possible, more for his sake than hers. She
had his back pressed against the wooden wall of the room as she fed him a veritable cornucopia,
her voice faintly heard as she mumbled something in French, and once hissed from the sudden
pleasure when he flattened his tongue inside her, brushing his flexible organ against her cum-
dripping walls, and then rolled it around, the tip of it touching everywhere he could possibly reach,
as his nose stimulated her clit with some minute motion on his part.

His glasses had fogged up, the metal of the frame kept digging into his skin, but Harry didn't care
about any of that.

Fleur was what mattered. Fleur and watching her squirm above him, watching her twist and curse
as he molded his tongue to her insides, thinking of how much he'd enjoyed the last time he gulped
down her juices, so suddenly and forcefully on her part.

All too soon, for Harry's liking anyway, she pressed even harder down on him and flooded his
mouth. It was a voracious need that drove him to swallow gulp after gulp of her sweet release. It
was honest desire that had him crave more. It was greed that bade him clean her, lay kisses on her
lower lips, fondle her perfect arse, hoping to entice her into another go at it.

Sadly for him, it was not so.

Fleur was heavy of breath, and a sheen of sweat clung to her forehead, though she still smiled at the
sight of Harry.

"Beautiful," murmured Fleur, her hand pulling him up, gently, until he was near her face, where
she took great care in cleaning her own mess up, occasionally nipping at his swollen mouth, giving
a lingering kiss here and there, until he no longer had any trace of her pleasure upon his skin. At
least, not in a visible way. Harry could still smell her in his nostrils when they eventually left the
store behind, only a single bag in his arms, expanded via a charm and filled with several robes
inside. Not even the chill of winter could rob him of the warmth that Fleur bestowed upon him, nor
could it deprive him of her scent.

I probably look like a fool, love-struck, to anyone that sees us, but... he found himself not caring.

Strange how Fleur always had such an effect on him, to forget the world and care for nothing in it.
Nothing but him and her.

She held such power over him and he wondered how much delight she took from that, for she was
far from blind.

They settled into the Three Broomsticks near the end of their date, and Harry was surprised that
they hadn't bought anything else for Fleur save what was already stored in the first bag. The rest,
some trinkets and knick-knacks, she bought for her family and friends, gifts to be given when an
opportunity presented itself.
In the crowd that seemingly occupied every available spot, Fleur and Harry went largely
unnoticed, until Madam Rosmerta saw them standing by the entrance, looking for a place to seat
themselves. She quicky made her way to them.

"Welcome, welcome!" said Rosmerta enthusiastically. "Just one more Tri-Wizard champion and
I'll have the whole set for the day! Come along now," she waved her hand at them, before turning
around and walking off, "there's more seats available in the back, no need to worry now, come
along, dears!"

Barely able to say anything in reply before she moved out of reach, Harry and Fleur looked at each
other, shrugged and found themselves following after her, if only because she promised them seats.
Along the way to the back-room, Harry noticed how he somehow garnered more attention than
Fleur, a strange phenomenon unto itself, more so because it seemed only witches noticed him,
rather than the other wizards. For a moment, they'd cast a flicker of their gazes in his direction
before they pulled themselves away and went back to whatever it was they were doing before.

It was... disquieting.

He didn't have time to ponder on it any further, as they walked through a door and found
themselves in a more sparsely populated room, where the booths seemed like worlds unto
themselves. No one paid their entry any attention.

They were seated next to one of the windows, where they were treated to the sight of the beautiful
wintery landscape of Hogsmeade, as snow started falling again, in big and thick snowflakes.
Madam Rosmerta was eager to take their orders, though she did look askance at Fleur when she
ordered Firewhisky along with her Butterbeer.

The buxom proprietor soon came back, with two foaming tankards of hot Butterbeer and Fleur's
shot of Firewhisky.

"Why Firewhisky?" asked Harry, between gulps, his eyes affixed on Fleur's mouth and the small
trace of foam above them.

Fleur's tongue slowly crept past her pouty lips, the tip of it carefully scooping up all of the foam,
but not before she dragged her tongue across her lips in full, wetting them further. "Why not? I've
never 'ad any, and I am of age." She saw his lingering gaze on the small glass and smiled. "Would
you like a taste, 'arry?"

He shrugged. "Not really."

But Fleur wouldn't let go of it. She took the Firewhisky in hand and walked around the table,
seating herself next to Harry, his back to the window now. "I zink you are familiar with ze
process," she teased him and downed the whole shot in one go. Then she quickly held his face
steady with her two hands and pressed a kiss on him, roughly shoving her tongue in his mouth and
making way for the burning liquid to trickle downward. He gasped when the drink settled in his
gut and felt like a fire had been churning within, which was not that far from the truth. Harry might
have gone on to reprimand Fleur for her actions, but she knew how to soothe his bruised pride:
with ample kisses, with words of sweet nothings whispered in between them, with roaming hands
and promises of things yet to come. At one point, she herself had let out a bit of a moan as Harry's
hand came to settle between her legs, guided more by instinct than conscious mind, where it started
to rub across her robes.

He was quickly turning the tables on her as she started, just barely, rocking her hips back and forth,
and he might have had her utterly drenched in her own juices had they just been left alone. A throat
was cleared in their vicinity and they were not all that quick to disentangle from each other, nor
that willing. Harry saw anger flash in Fleur's midnight-blue eyes, her mouth turning from a smile
and towards a sneer, but just before she turned around to see who was interrupting them all
evidence of irritation had been wiped clean from her face, though Harry's wrist, where her own
hand had settled moments ago, suffered for it.

When Harry finally turned away from Fleur and saw who it was, he had to fight down a burst of
pure hatred aimed at the boy.

Cedric Diggory. And just a step or two away from him stood Cho Chang, apparently not all that
eager to share their company. By the looks of the two, they seemed to have already been in the
room, what with not having their winter robes or scarves on.

Harry's arm found itself wound around Fleur's waist before he even said, "Cedric," and nodded at
the Hufflepuff.

Fleur leaned slightly back into Harry's embrace and asked, in a casual tone, "Diggory, won't you
join us?"

The Hufflepuff champion attempted a grin, but failed. His eyes seemed to twitch a lot. "No, thank
you, this will only take a minute," said Cedric, strained. "I'd just like to have a word with Harry."
Who looked at him with confusion, until Diggory elaborated. "About the favor I owe you."
Cedric's eyes constantly flicked from Harry to Fleur and back, for a minute or so.

Harry found himself striving for a balanced tone in his voice when he said, "It's fine, Cedric. You'd
have done the same for me, you don't owe me anything," because Fleur's left hand was resting atop
his thigh, rather close to his crotch. It didn't help that she was moving it about and occasionally
brushed against his slowly stiffening cock, but thankfully the angle of the table, along with the
cloth hanging from it, prevented anyone from seeing the act taking place.

Perhaps Cedric had seen in Harry that he would not move apart from Fleur and converse with him
somewhere more private, perhaps he thought this was the only chance he would get, because all
the other times before Harry had seemed to avoid him, for one reason or another, never knowing
that Harry simply felt irritated whenever he saw the Hufflepuff.

"I insist," said Cedric. He cast one glance back at Cho, who seemed to be grow increasingly
uncomfortable, if that slight perspiration and fidgeting was anything to go by. "Remember that egg
we got? Try taking it for a bath."

Harry blinked owlishly.

Has he gone mad?

"A... bath?" asked Harry, with a slight wavering in his voice at the end. Fleur had grabbed him by
the cock and was busying herself, stroking it to full hardness, which didn't take long, all the while
her face showed no sign of the lewd act.

"A bath," said Cedric, hastily. "Look, I have to go now, Cho's waiting for me. I'll talk to you later."

The Hufflepuff wizard and the Ravenclaw witch left, all too eagerly it seemed.

Harry might have mused on what Cedric had tried to say, but Fleur had no intention of letting him.
She hid her face in the crook of his neck, as her shoulders shook with muffled, melodic laughter.
But that did not mean she had stopped for a moment in her ministrations, and Harry found it
increasingly difficult not to let the other people in the room know what was going on.
"Oh, mon cher, did I distract you too much?"

For the first time, but not the last, Harry uttered, "Bitch," into her ear, with no small amount of
affection before his mouth assaulted hers, to better hide a moan that escaped from his throat and
into her mouth. The harsher he was with his tongue, the more demanding with his flesh and his
grip around her waist, the faster was Fleur with her hand, the more earnest her reciprocation, the
stronger her desire, the sharper her teeth. The half-mad beginning of a rut didn't last long.

With shame and lust, intertwined as they were, engulfing his whole being, Harry proceeded to soil
his underwear and some of his robes, without Fleur ever coming in direct contact with his - now
slowly turning flaccid - cock.

She carded her fingers through his hair and gently pressed his sweaty forehead to the front of her
robes, where he could rest his head, lean his ear to her chest and hear her heart, the violence with
which it beat only moments ago slowly dying.

It would be a while before they departed from the Three Broomsticks, but not each other.

She'd talked him into - not that it took much convincing - coming back to her room in the carriage
for a shower before he went back to the Gryffindor Tower. "You reek of sex," she'd said to him,
amused. Harry had no doubt about that, for as they were moving through the crowd in the tavern,
their presence attracted even more attention than before, and not just from the witches. He couldn't
possibly imagine going through the whole of Hogwarts and hope that no one would stop him
somewhere along the way, where they might yet somehow guess at what he'd been doing with
Fleur in Hogsmeade.

Harry had known - and hoped - that he would not be left on his own in the shower for long.

The sliding of the glass-paneled doors, once to open and once more to close, proved him right.

In the thick, warm steam that rose from the floor, Fleur's breath should have gone unnoticed, but he
felt it strike at the back of his neck and he shivered, more so when Fleur wrapped her arm around
his waist and nestled her hand atop his crotch.

He started to turn around, but she didn't let him; her hold was reinforced as she pushed him
forward, towards the wall.

One kiss after another she lavished across his shoulderblades, after which her face nuzzled against
the back of his head, while soft, loving words caressed the shell of his ear, her hand tenderly
stroking him to hardness. She was gentle, above all else.

He was panting heavily - not even five minutes later - his skin tensing, his whole body aflame, just
waiting for the right moment to burst, but Fleur didn't waver for one moment in her approach. She
toyed with him: fingers touching the had of his cock, stroking down its full length, pulling back and
forth his foreskin with every motion; fingers fondling his sack, so full despite what she'd done to
him earlier, as if she were to squeeze the seed right out of them; fingers wandering even lower,
beneath and between until her middle finger trespassed across a hole that instinctively clenched
tight.

Harry had no way of knowing that her goal was to slowly drive him mad with lust, mad enough to
beg, mad enough to plead, mad enough to tell her: "Please, Fleur, please!" in a desperate wail, on
the verge of crying from the ravaging of his senses.
Her mouth pressed against the side of his neck, where she laid but a single kiss. "Not zis way, mon
cher." Her hand moved away from his stiff, throbbing cock, pulsating and leaking, to the side of
his face as she turned his head her way, until green met blue. "I want all of you. Not just what we
'ad done so far, but more, 'arry. I want everyzzing. Would you give yourself, all of it, to me?"

"Yes!" he cried out.

She held his head in place with her hand, kissing him, while the other hand moved lower, down his
back, where her fingers left faint marks of red upon his skin, where she felt another shiver consume
his body, almost never ending, his knees trembling. But she didn't stop there, lower and lower she
went until her hand cupped his bum, and squeezed it just once before departing.

"All of you, 'arry," she repeated herself.

"Yes!"

"All?" she asked one last time.

His, "Yes," was a pathetic whimper that he feared she might not hear at all and leave him to suffer.

He felt the change within her, even though her body reflected little of it, and he felt himself grown
warmer than he thought possible, even while they both still stood under the steady fall of hot water
from the affixed shower-head. Warmer and warmer, until he was a flame, ready to dance and twist
at Fleur's command.

"Spread your legs," said Fleur, in a whisper that brooked no disobedience.

Where she kept her wand, he could not tell, but he felt its smooth wooden texture across his skin,
traveling from below until its tip rested between his cheeks. Once again, his hole clenched shut,
and he feared pain would come, he feared this was all a sick game to Fleur, who'd only meant to
humiliate him, only to make him bleed, make him weak and break him apart.

The pain didn't come, only a breeze-like sensation in his insides and Harry didn't know what that
meant.

When Fleur pulled away from him, he despaired for her touch and just as he was to call out her
name, he felt her.

With each hand placed upon the cheeks of his arse, Fleur spread them wide. In this too, she was
gentle, as she was when she gave him his first kiss down there, all wetness and tongue. Harry
tensed, resisting the urge to put himself higher in the air by standing on the tips of his toes. He
didn't understand any of it, could not even begin to see why Fleur wished to do this.

But he let her, all the same. She lathered him in saliva, her velvet-like tongue gliding across his
hole, the tip poking at it from time to time, as she took to distracting, and relaxing, him by taking
hold of his cock, aiming it downward, as if to milk him.

Then suddenly, in the moment when tension finally left his body, Fleur's tongue went past the rim
of his hole, touched his insides, touched him in ways he never thought of before, squirming and
wiggling, deeper than he thought possible. Heat surged through him, all over, alien and stronger
than anything he ever felt before.

Was it from shame? Was that his voice giving out? Was that a moan?

He shut his eyes tightly; at the same time trying to repress the odd sensation, welling up from
inside, and embrace it, pushing himself backwards, further onto Fleur's face, much like how she
had done to him on a previous occasion. Clearly, she found the act pleasing as her hands had taken
to kneading his cheeks, squeezing the flesh until it fit through the gaps between her fingers, and all
along her tongue worked its magic on his hole, making him squirm and moan and gasp.

It was teasing, of a sorts.

"Please, Fleur," he managed to gasp out one time.

She moved her face away for a few moments and, unseen to him, smiled. "Please, what?"

"More," pleaded Harry, pitiful and embarrassed.

When she rose from the ground and her breasts once more pressed on his back, he thought she
would simply grab him by the cock and wrench his release from him with gusto. Fleur, however,
had other things on her mind.

"More what, 'arry?" asked Fleur, smug in the knowledge that she had him where she wanted.

"Anything. Everything."

Harry gasped out sharply once he felt two of her fingers at the front of his hole, just circling around
the entrance, teasing.

Fleur would oblige him, gladly, if he would only: "Beg." Her arm circled him 'round his waist
again, but the hold she had on him was far from the gentleness of before; steel-like vice more like
it. "Beg for me, mon cher, beg and I will grant you everyzzing."

He opened his eyes and turned towards her - emerald-green and midnight-blue clashed - knowing
her smile was anything but innocent, that those dark eyes of hers held no kindness in them, nothing
but savageness and lust. He'd never begged before. Not for anything. Not for kindness or love from
his aunt. Not for mercy from Voldemort and his shade. Not for anything. But Fleur was different.

"Please."

Barely had the word left his mouth and Fleur's fingers plunged, having encountered little
resistance, until she'd pushed them past the second knuckle, side by side, letting him adjust to the
feeling of both their length and girth.

"Oh, 'arry," she moaned, her voice taking on a lilt, "you are so very, very good to me. Her fingers
pulled slightly backwards before she pushed them deep inside, in search of that one special spot
that would make him melt in her arms. "I will treat you like no ozzer ever will. I will keep your
secrets, keep all you wish to give me. I will make our days nuzzing but pleasurable."

Harry had no words to offer in kind, he was beyond them, for Fleur had finally come across what
she'd been seeking out.

A sharp twist in his insides as something stimulated him from within, as something pushed at him
to leak precum from his slit in a steady drip, as if it were milk and not the telling of seed yet to be
spilled on the shower's beige floor. He moaned louder.

"Sacré Morgana, vous êtes beau!"

She was without mercy, but not without care or affection.

All that she wrought brought him pleasure never before imagined in his wildest dreams.

And he ached for release, oh how he ached!

But Fleur would not let him find it with his or her hands and kept his cock standing on its own,
pulsating, while she clung tightly to him as her fingers pushed at him from the inside, as she
coaxed moan after moan and words he never thought to utter.

The closest her fingers came to his cock was when she placed them beneath the head, letting them
be spilled over, only for Fleur to bring them up to Harry's mouth and have him suckle upon each
digit that was slick with his own bittersweetness.

The more she fed him, the hungrier he became until his mouth sought out her fingers voluntarily,
until he sucked them clean, bucking his hips, impaling himself further on her fingers, until they
were fully inside and the pressure became maddening.

To his everlasting shame - even when they would look up on this moment as his first true
surrender, he could not banish that feeling, suffusing his whole being so strongly, but weaker than
the lust Fleur evoked - he came, more than ever.

His cock had not been touched - played with, yes, even teased, but not touched for the final release,
for the dam to burst - and it throbbed angrily as spurt after spurt of his thick cum erupted from the
slit of his cock-head, painting the wall pearly white.

Plenty of the pungent seed had landed in the palm of Fleur's hand and she only had to bring it close
to his face before his tongue found its way past the lips and started licking and, before too long,
lapping it up like a dog driven mad by thirst.

It settled uneasily in his stomach. He felt ill, but only for the span of a single moment that existed
before Fleur captured his lips with her own, as hungry for him as she made him for herself. Harry
hadn't known how deep the rabbit hole went, but Fleur was all too glad to show him, all too eager
to make him depraved, to have him become a reflection of herself.

His legs finally gave out and he fell into her arms, unconsciousness' pull far too strong to resist this
time.

His dreams were of Fleur and him, in a proper rut.

Harry awoke in Fleur's bed, with her watching over him, fingers moving his unruly strands of hair
away from his eyes.

She leaned down and gently kissed him. "You were magnificent," said Fleur as she took to
caressing his face. He felt like flinching away from his touch, as memories of what he'd done
assailed him came back to him, but she would not let him. "No, 'arry, you were not weak. Far from
it, in fact. It takes much to submit willingly, and you... you were perfect."

But Fleur was wrong; his thoughts were anything but thoughts of weakness. Though that presented
no issue for her.

"You used me," his accusation went. "You did that on purpose, all of it. The whole day. Didn't
you?" His eyes radiated hate.

Hers, on the other hand, conveyed only affection. "Yes, all of it. All of it for you. And I would do it
again and again."
It took effort not to shy away from those remorseless eyes of hers. "Why?"

"Because I want you," she stated bluntly. "We might not last past ze Tournament as lovers, we
might fall out with each other over some meaningless matter in ze days and months ahead of us, but
what we started, I intend to finish."

"And what if I don't let you? What then?"

With a quiet certainty in her voice, Fleur said, "You will. You will because you want me too, even
if you'd like to deny it now. You want me," her face drew closer, and one of her legs was over him,
bringing his body closer to hers, where she had his treacherous cock tell her what his mouth would
eagerly deny, "so very, very bad, my dear 'arry. No shame in zat. No shame in anyzzing zat we do
togezzer. No regrets, no looking back on what if's. Only you and me. Look me in ze eye, tell me it's
a lie."

"It is," said Harry, quietly, the lie convincing no one, least of all himself.

She placed a finger beneath his chin and lifted his face back up, so that he could see into her eyes
properly.

"It is," he repeated, somewhat stronger.

"Liar," she smiled, "a poor liar, at zat. Tell me you didn't enjoy my 'and on your cock."

He grit his teeth, eyes looking to focus at anything else but her eyes, which would not let him deny
her.

"Tell me you didn't want my lèvres on you, nor my dents or my marquer."

Fire raged in emeralds, so close to pouring out.

"Tell me you didn't enjoy my tongue or my fingers."

"Shut up," the roar was building up.

"Tell me, 'arry. Tell me all zose lies zat fester wizzin."

"Shut up!" his last denial.

"Tell me you didn't want to be fucked by me," she spoke in a throaty tone, "zat you didn't enjoy
being fed your own cum, zat you never moaned for me, tell me you won't beg me to do zat and
more to you, zat you've never enjoyed any of it."

He had no more words to give, nothing but his hate, the likes of which found words to be
inadequate.

So he kissed her; the surest way of shutting her up.

Of course she kissed him back, she'd deny him nothing, not even his hate, misguided as it was.

Fleur tried to be gentle, but he would have none of it. He ran roughshod with her, grabbing her by
the arms and pinning them down, above her head, pushing them down into the pillows, while his
mouth feverishly attacked hers, more teeth than tongue. Her lips quickly grew swollen, and all the
more alluring to his all-consuming rage, but he would not desist. This was the path he chose. She
thought she knew him so well, but she knew nothing of him, nothing of what laid within.
He was not gentle. He didn't care enough to be, didn't even care enough to notice that Fleur
willingly parted her legs and wrapped them around him, even as his cock viciously stabbed at her
cunt, not caring about her, whether she was wet or dry. But she was so very, very wet in fact that he
was enraged at her for it.

"Fuck you," he breathed out, hating that she enjoyed what he did to her.

Fleur did as she was wont to do. She smiled and said: "Yes, 'arry, fuck me."

She was the furnace and he the steel that refused to melt.

Later, he would think on the event, think their first time should have been gentler, suffused with
love and care, but not now. Now, he just wanted to fuck her, to bruise her flesh, to bloody her lips,
to make her quiver and be the one to beg for release.

So he pounded at her, slamming his hips over and over into the tight wetness, the constriction
around his cock, the milking motions of her walls trying to pull him deeper in, where he belonged.
Her words of encouragement and praise were lost on him, as he himself was lost to lust and anger
and hatred and bitterness and that most wretched thing of all: love.

He was swiftly done with his first time, emptying his full sack inside her squelching folds, with
such a force he thought he would fall down and lose consciousness again, and he might have were
it not for the rage, which had yet to run out. He never grew flaccid - somehow he remained firm
and sharp of mind - his mouth moving from Fleur's and down onto her neck, even as his cock
pushed through his own ejaculate, some of it dripping out, some of it pushed deeper in. If she left
his mark on him, so he too would do the same to her. Let her suffer their gazes. Let her be the mark
of their ridicule.

Savageness was his quality in the time he spent with her. Ferocious, feral, vicious. All apt enough
to describe him.

And she thrived in it, took him in, accepted him, returned his affections with gentleness he never
should have evoked. The more gentle she was, the more keen on receiving his brutality with open
arms, the harder he fucked her. And he fucked her. There was no love to be found in the physical
things he'd done to her, though his mind would tell otherwise. His first time - with Fleur - was
everything he had ever thought of, everything he had secretly desired: to take her roughly, to have
her love it and welcome him. In those moments of pure lust and rage, he felt powerful, he felt like a
conqueror. Instead of the hearth's fire of a conquered homestead, he had her cunt. Instead of a
nourishing drink and meal, he had her cum covering his cock and her heaving bosom to bite and
suckle at.

He ruined her, made her feel raw and abused and all she did was smile at him. He felt like crying,
but instead pushed those ill-fitting emotions away and channeled all his frustration into his cock,
into thrusting harder, faster at her, looking for angles to go deeper, to make her arse touch his balls
as he sheathed himself inside her, to stain the bed with her and his body's betrayal.

Harry hated himself as much as he loved Fleur in the moments of his second and third and fourth
release, for Fleur had wrapped herself around him, arms on his back, legs around his waist, and
would not let go of him, no matter what, as he kept emptying himself in her cum-drenched pussy.
There was no denying it: he loved every moment of it. All of it. Each time he came it was with a
roar, befitting a true Gryffindor, and each time she let herself let go in sync with him, fingernails
etching evidence of her pleasure onto his back.

She was a mess, to say the least.

And he was a beast.

Once the fog lifted from his mind, he saw with frightening clarity the consequences of his actions:
the bruises on her breasts, the teeth-marks all over her neck, collarbone and shoulders, the imprints
of his fingers on the wrists of her hands, and finally his yet-to-turn-flaccid cock, still halfway inside
her, with her lips red and inflamed, with sticky seed covering them both, with the sheets drenched
in their fluids; his shame, his pride... his and hers all. She had reached her peak, though he didn't
know if it happened more than once, the proof was all over his front, now drying and quite sticky.

A hand reached out to cup his face, to bring him back down, just in time as sleep overtook him
from sheer exhaustion.

The last words he heard as he laid his head on her breasts, her breath tickling his ear, were these:

"I am yours and you are mine, 'arry Potter. Mine. Let none tear asunder what a Veela claims as
hers."
 To unveil a Veela

It was early in the morning when Fleur opened her eyes.

The first thing she noticed was Harry's arm around her midsection, wrapped firmly, pressing her
back to his front. She had no recollection of when they moved about in the bed and switched
positions, but she didn't mind.

She would have twisted and turned, until they were face to face, if she only hadn't wished him to
remain asleep some more.

It was hard to fight against the grin that was to adorn her face. Harry had been, just as she confided
in him, perfect. No, more than perfect, more than magnificent, more than just... Harry. Even now,
while he slept and dreamed (dreamed of her) she knew that she had wrought change within him,
that the boy who had once looked upon her countenance with eyes full of scorn and contempt was
resting peacefully by her side, in her bed, where the two of them had made their madness manifest.

His passion, she still felt: that delightful soreness nestled between her legs; the ache in the tendon
of her neck, where his teeth had left their mark; the racing pulse of blood in her veins which he had
set aflame without any effort whatsoever.

These thoughts alone - of things he had done, of deeds in the night - almost provoked a moan,
almost made her initiate a change within herself and bend him over the bed, bend him over any flat
surface in the room and take him, as was her right.

Fleur might have delved more deeply into her plans, mused on what the next step would be in their
unusual courtship, if only Harry's arm hadn't tightened its hold around her waist and if his palm
hadn't covered one of her still sensitive breasts.

"I'm not sorry."

She only turned her head slightly to the side, to take a glimpse of his face, but found him assisting
her in turning her whole body, until they were face to face, until she witnessed that the fire that
raged in his eyes from last night still lingered, burning quietly. His hold on her remained, though
now his hand rested on the small of her back, rather than her breast.

His other hand she took in her own and brought it to her mouth where she gave it a small peck
across his knuckles.

"And what made you zink zat I would want you to be sorry for anyzzing?"

He shook his head slightly. "I don't know. All I can say is," he hesitated for a moment, "that I won't
apologize for anything from last night." His otherwise brilliant eyes darkened by half a shade. "You
used me. And I used you."

"And you loved every second of it," stated Fleur, pleased and self-assured.

He nodded and said, "I did," without a single tremble in his voice, "both parts. I want you, Fleur."
His body pressed against hers, cock already hard against her flat stomach. The fire in his eyes
bloomed. "I want you and I hate you for it."

"I know." She kissed his hand again, smiling. "'ate me all you want, mon cher, but be 'onest about
it. Zat is all I ask."
Harry laughed; a small but understandable reaction. He closed his eyes and when he opened them
the fire was all but gone. "You're a very strange witch, Fleur, to be content with hate, and not love,
from a lover."

She shrugged. "Two sides of ze same coin and it is known zat ze line is zin between love and 'ate."
Her face came close to his, her breath falling upon his mouth. "And you will come to love me,
'arry, zat I know wiz absolute certainty."

His smile was a rueful one when his mouth twisted that way. It looked like he wished to say more,
but restrained himself.

Let him keep his words, whatever they were, ultimately they're unimportant. You will love and
worship me before summer comes, Harry Potter, this I swear on all that is dear to my heart, this I
promise. I will have you and you will preen at being claimed mine.

What followed surprised neither of them: her proximity prompted a kiss and one kiss turned into
dozens which turned into their legs being entangled, which turned into roaming hands, which
turned into yet another rutting of pure pleasure.

But this time, it was different.

Fleur was atop him, like the Valkyries of old that rode upon their steeds, in absolute command of
the task at hand. And whereas those mythical beings collected the slain brave and valourous from
fields of battle, Fleur took her due in Harry's most essentials: his words, his moans, his gasps, his
cock's throbbs, his balls' ache and ultimately his seed would be hers too.

It did not take long until Fleur was howling with pleasure, having bounced up and down on her
lover's cock with extreme fervor, impaling herself upon its full length, having felt him thrust
upwards at her with his hands on her hips to bring her back down and his thumb brushing and
flicking her clit tenderly; quite contradictory to the whole event, but highly pleasurable.

Her sharp fingernails left their angry red marks across his pale, hairless chest, but she did not
contend herself with merely just this simple act, for in his eyes she saw that he enjoyed the streaks
of pain when her nails bit too deep. Still riding him, though now her flesh clung to his as she
gyrated her hips around, she bowed low and took to lavishing one of his nipples with her tongue,
until she deemed it just receptive enough to the sensation she wished to evoke, and bit down, hard.

It was Harry this time who howled, his hand finding itself fisted in Fleur's hair as he held onto her,
but instead of pulling her away he pushed closer, where Fleur's puckered mouth gave kisses with
moistened lips to bruised and teeth-marked flesh, to soothe the sting of pain, but at the same time
keep it fresh, and make his blood flow faster, his heart beat harder, his cock twitch more often,
until his balls spent their precious load inside her, where it belonged.

Thoughts of what she'd have him do after he spent himself pushed her over the peak, and she
fought hard to stay atop him, even as her juices gushed out from between her folds. Her own
orgasm had almost pushed his cock out, but Harry endured.

The fact that she climaxed didn't stop her lover for one second; in fact, it invigorated him further to
pound at her now sloppy-feeling cunt, soaked as he was in its juices, with a rhythm so feral it belied
his physical stature; more fit for someone with giant's blood in their veins rather than that of any
wizard. His ferociousness Fleur took to all too gladly, not even bothering to hide her grin as she felt
him push deeper, desperate to reach some previously untouched place within her.

And soon it was that she felt it, that one last tremor that ran through his whole body, the widening
of his cock-head, the eruption of cum from his slit and right into her pussy, which was quite
welcoming and starving for such a generous treat.

She did not anticipate his teeth sinking into her shoulder, though she minded it not.

Fleur counted each of his spurts, luxuriating in the warm feeling of being so deliciously filled with
cock and cum.

Her eyes filled with lust yet to abate, Fleur looked at him: exhausted but not without presence of a
mind.

"You know what I'd 'ave you do now, non?" asked Fleur, with a purr to her voice, fingers teasing at
his mouth lazily.

Harry's lids grew heavy and they lowered themselves halfway. He looked keenly at her, before he
nodded.

A moan escaped past her lips as she carefully lifted herself upwards, extracting his cock in the
process and clenching the walls of her pussy shut, so that it might hold its precious loads within,
without seeping out a single drop.

"Do you remember what we did last night?" Fleur bit her lower lip. "Four times, 'arry, and all of
zem inside me, still."

"I remember," said Harry quietly.

His hands settled on Fleur's slender legs, right below her waist, as he pulled her up, towards his
face, and until she reached her destination, her hand remained firmly pressed against her lower lips,
keeping them closed. She felt his seed trying to squirm its way past and drip down, but she would
not allow it. Only when his lips brushed the back of her hand did she move most of her fingers out
of the way; all but two of them. With her index and her middle finger she spread herself fully open,
breathing heavily in anticipation for when the first dollop of the thick, white cream passed outside
her.

Harry, however, was not one to wait, as it turned out. He pressed his mouth to her pussy, his lips
between her fingers, and his tongue swiftly struck out, reaching inside her, catching what would
have dropped down moments later if he'd merely kept his mouth open and waited for her to move
first. But he hadn't and Fleur moaned again, her throat giving voice to the rapture she felt as Harry's
tongue burrowed within, scooping up their mixed cum and swallowing it without hesitation.

"Clean me," she bid him, her breath quickening as her breasts rose and fell. "Eat me out, mon cher,
and enjoy ze creampie zat we worked so 'ard for zis past night and morn." Her eyes stared into his,
unblinking and full of hunger. "Let me feed you."

Her moans started growing louder and louder as Harry took to pressing her crotch against his face,
as his tongue swirled inside her, the residue of last night's pleasures and those of this morning, still
so very fresh, mingled and turned bitter in his mouth. The more he ate her out, the more he cleaned
her of their messes, the more voracious he was, the louder Fleur was.

And all the while, his eyes looked up into hers, neither daring to break contact, to lose a single
moment of their shared ecstasy.

Unsurprisingly, Fleur had reached her peak swiftly, and squirted copious amounts of cum in her
lover's mouth; his and hers. That did not mean that he relented, that he paused to give her breath.
He renewed his efforts, though his tongue now strayed outside as well, engulfing her clit with his
wet organ, occasionally even suckling on it, eager for another serving of her release.

For all the times that he came the night before and the morning after, Fleur surpassed him. Not
once, not twice... but seven times. Seven times she'd flooded his mouth. Seven times she rode his
face raw, until his skin reddened from friction, until his lips were swollen, until he reeked of her.
Her throat was shouted hoarse with screams of pleasure.

This time it was her who collapsed and he was all too ready to catch her in his arms, only to find it
a ruse of sorts.

Her mouth sought to devour his. "We taste good," she'd whispered to him, soft breath against his
lips, tongue flicking out.

"You taste better," said Harry, teasingly.

She couldn't help but smile. "We'll remedy zat, not to worry. Now," she lifted herself up, "I zink
zat I 'old an unfair advantage in ze count, and I do believe in equal traitement in zese matters.
Come, mon cher, again, for me..."

And so it started again and again and again until she settled the difference, until Harry was utterly
wrung dry, though Fleur herself was far from it; a boon of her Veela heritage - one that saw all of
her lovers exhausted and so very pliant - that she would come to impart (a semblance of it, at least)
to Harry in the coming weeks, for like her madness it too was virulent.

They laid in Fleur's bed, clean as they could be after their extensive shower session, with him lying
next to her and his head resting on her breasts, her fingers soothingly scratching at his scalp as she
whispered the words.

"Come seek us where our voices sound, we cannot sing above ze ground, and while you're
searching, ponder zis: we've taken what you'll sorely miss, an 'our long you'll 'ave to look, and
recover what we took. But past an 'our — the prospect's black, too late, it's gone, it won't come
back."

Her lover was silent, though his lips moved as he repeated the words, over and over, in order to
memorize them. When he was done, Harry lifted his head up from her chest and turned around to
face her.

"Why tell me this?"

Fleur shrugged. "I would razzer you not spend any more time on what zat foolish boy talked about,
and in ze end I would 'ave told you about it, regardless of whezzer he had spoken or not. And let's
be 'onest, 'is way of 'elping wasn't all zat good to start wiz." She snorted. "'Take a bazz'? Non, that
wasn't 'elpful at all, and what little he said was to assuage his conscience."

It was not the whole truth, of course. Fleur had certainly mused about telling him the clue for the
Second Task, but it was her Headmistress' intrusion that made up her mind. What business was it
of hers or anyone else whom Fleur bedded?

She saw her words take root, deep and true, in Harry, the glimmer of bitterness and contempt for
the Hufflepuff welling up, and she delighted in knowing she had been the one to bring it about. But
those emotions were smothered when he blinked and in their place she saw affection, burning with
a quiet flame. All for her, and her alone, of course.
He pressed a kiss to her lips and she let it remain chaste. "Thank you."

Her mouth curved upwards, into a smile, against his own. "Do not zank me yet. Ze task is not
done, and I will not go easy on you, simply because we are lovers, 'arry. But you already knew zat,
didn't you?"

"I did," answered Harry, "but if it's all the same to you," his mouth started curving into a small
lopsided grin, "I'd like to properly express my gratitude." His fingers were busy, trailing a path
across the line of her waist.

"Oh, and 'ow would you go about doing zat, mon cher?" asked Fleur sultrily, as she pressed herself
further into his touch.

His grin had turned into a smile that she would come to like best about him: full of hunger and all
teeth.

"I think I can come up with something, and if not... well, you can always tell me what you want
and I'd oblige."

I want you spread-eagled, Harry. I want you collared and leashed, I want you tied down and
blindfolded and gagging for me.

But Fleur voiced none of her thoughts and her inner wants. She merely said, "I'll zink of somezzing
zen," and added in a remorseful voice, "for anuzzer time. I'm afraid I've kept you too long by my
side," she smiled mischievously, "again."

Harry groaned and buried his face back in between her breasts. "Merlin, I hate this."

She ran her fingers through his hair, scratching at his scalp, twisting the strands of blackness
around her digits. "I assume you're talking about 'aving to leave from my illustrious presence,
razzer zan you indulging yourself wiz my breasts."

He laughed, gusts of warm breath making her skin flush, making her feel the familiar tingle as it
started to spread, slowly. She thought, at first, to push him away, for temptation was all too sweet
of a thing for her, but then his mouth was no longer open from the bout of laughter and instead it
closed around one of her nipples and the soft, milky-white flesh around it.

Fleur's hold on his hair turned rougher as she yanked him upwards.

She warned him, "Do not start somezzing we cannot finish now, mon cher," for she knew that if he
were to try and play the part of the ravaging beast yet again, she would have no other recourse but
to respond in kind and in turn ravage him.

"I'm not sure I can finish anything, you've drained me to the bone, but you, Fleur, on the other
hand," his tongue went past his lips, gently lavishing her sensitive flesh with its wetness, "you're
practically impossible to satiate."

Her laughter tinkled. "True. But not entirely impossible, I assure you, 'arry. And you've more zan
done your part."

Harry opened his mouth to reply, but then they heard a knocking on the door, and a familiar voice
calling to them.

"Now, now, lovebirds, you've had a whole day, and night, to yourselves. Time to get out of bed."
Fleur's hand was already rising from beneath the duvet, to let them in, but then she saw Harry's
grinning face. When she raised an eyebrow at him, he only mouthed 'Let them in' and then sank
fully beneath the covers. A moment or two later, his reason for this was revealed, as her legs were
spread, her knees pushed up and Fleur herself pushed against the headboard. She forced back a
loud moan in her throat and then continued the motion of her arm, letting both Amy and Dannielle
inside.

They were barely beyond the door when Fleur shut it closed, with great force.

"Well now," said Amy, her eyes already scouring across the room, "where is that lover of yours,
Fleur?"

"Maybe he'd already left," speculated Danni, as she followed right behind Amy, both of them
settling down on the sofa.

Fleur fought back a smile, as Harry's tongue was dragged slowly across her folds and his fingers
pressed more firmly into her thighs, keeping her down on the bed. Her two friends suspected
nothing for the moment, since Fleur's knees upholstered the bed's covers in the air, giving Harry
ample space to hide himself for a few moments, before his presence was unveiled.

"Or," replied Fleur, in French, "he's beneath the duvet, between my legs, with his mouth on my
mound."

Amy's and Danni's jaws went slack, their eyes wide. The silence did not last all that much before
the sound of a sloppy cunnilingus started echoing in the room and Fleur herself no longer fought
down any of her moans as she arched her back up from the bed. Her hand vanished swiftly beneath
the covers, and her friends could then clearly see the outline of a masculine form and the
movement of the head that was settled between Fleur's legs.

One of her legs found itself draped over his shoulder, the heel of her foot pushing his face further
into her. Though she could see his bright green eyes from beneath the shallow darkness of the
covers, peering up into her dark blue ones, Fleur wanted far more than that. So she used the leg
that was already on top of him and pushed the duvet further down, until Harry himself was
uncovered, along with Fleur's own nudity. For a moment and no more, she saw a sliver of panic in
his eyes, but it vanished as fast as it appeared, smothered by his own lust for her. Was it any
wonder that Fleur's hand found purchase in his hair? Fingers roughly tangled themselves in his
hair, urging him to do more than just mere lapping between her folds.

From the corner of her eye she looked at her two friends, still sitting on the sofa, albeit quite
distracted with one another rather than the sight that Harry and Fleur provided. No matter, what
Amy and Dannielle did with each other was of little importance, as their presence had provided a
catalyst for yet another change, small though it might have been, in Harry.

In a way, Fleur could not believe that the same boy who needed several days to muster up the
courage to even approach her, for that fateful first time, was the same boy whose tongue now
dived fully inside her wet pussy, swiping across its walls and scooping up its juices before he
brought it back inside his mouth and gulped them down; in front of an audience, at that.

Not once did his eyes stray from hers, not once did he fully part from her cum-slick folds, not until
he brought her to the edge of an orgasm. Only then did he remove his tongue from within her. Only
then he lapped at her clit, while two of his fingers worked diligently at spearing and stretching her
in a most pleasant way. She was proud at how swiftly he learned.

In one moment, his fingers were pushed fully inside, to the last knuckle, and his moist lips wrapped
themselves around her clit.

Her leg, which until then remained beneath him, was quick to join the other on his shoulder and
Fleur locked them around his head with haste, not willing to let a single drop of her yet-to-gush
cum land anywhere but in his mouth as he sucked on the sensitive flesh. Fleur was not shy about
voicing her pleasure, telling him to, "Yes! Swallow it, mon cher! All of it!" even as her whole body
shook, her sweet juices squirting straight into her lover's already open and receptive mouth.

For half a minute, Fleur fed Harry her cum and a vision - solely within her mind, though she would
seek one day to make it a reality that both of them would come to enjoy - of his otherwise flat
stomach acquiring a small paunch from the volume she unloaded inside him only served to protract
her body-wracking orgasm; her breathing ever so short, ever so sharp.

When her leg-lock on his head slackened, Harry used that opportunity to move upwards and soon
he laid atop of Fleur.

Through a haze of pleasure which did nothing to dim her faculties, Fleur saw her lover lower his
lips to hers and she soon tasted her own sweetness as she was fed in very much the same manner
that she had fed him on several occasions before. Of course she allowed it. How could she not,
when all of this gave her hopes for so much more yet to be done?

And to think, her lover had not even kissed a girl before meeting her. How far he had come...

What a delightful lover you are, my Harry, and yet we've only scratched the surface.

She clung to him, her arms wrapped around him, her hands caressing his back.

His breath carried her scent and she thrilled in it. All was as it should be.

"You realize," said Fleur, "zat zis is only ze start, non?" His cock twitched between them. "Look at
my friends, 'arry."

And he did.

Both of the witches were entirely divested of their robes, but only Dannielle sat on the sofa, while
Amy knelt down on the floor, her head positioned firmly between Danni's legs. The sounds, the
sight... they left very little to imagination. Harry's cock throbbed against her, even though both of
them knew that it had nothing more to give and would only hurt him if they tried to milk it again.
And yet... she craved that. Craved to push him to the edge of pain and over it, wanted to give him
so many sensations, so that no other that came after could ever compare. And was she not fair? She
took her time with him, was gentle when she wanted to be truly vicious, wanted to hurt him, wanted
to bleed him and make him cry, wanted to love him.

An involuntary shudder passed through her body and several of her fingers raked themselves
across Harry's back.

She breathed in his burst of agony and bliss, so effortlessly evoked by one simple act.

She breathed out nothing but love, spoken in her mother tongue, both of which he had yet to
understand.

In her heart of hearts, she feared for Harry. Her love unleashed was never a gentle thing.

In her heart of hearts, she knew that her fear was for naught, and what would be, would be.
Fleur shifted in the bed and moved Harry to lie next to her, his back to her front, his face straining
to look back at her, as though looking forward, at the scene that Amy and Danni so passionately
orchestrated for them, would be a betrayal.

Her hand cupped his cock. "Look all you want, mon cher, no 'arm in zat, else I would not 'ave
positioned us so. Look, but don't touch," her fingernails pressed sharply into his thigh, "and always
remember zat zis," she squeezed him playfully, "is mine, and no ozzer's. Understood?" All mine to
hold, all mine to play with as I see fit. Say 'yes', Harry. Say 'yes'.

He managed to turn around, though her hold on his cock remained.

"I understand, Fleur." His hand cupped her mound, fingers touching her clit. "And this? Is this
mine, Fleur? Are you mine too?"

Her reply was a soft kiss and whispered words between breaths yet to be taken. "For as long as you
want me. Now, watch."

Once more, she turned him about and made him spoon into her, one of her hands stroking his chest,
while the other fondled his cock and balls. She was gentle, despite her fervent desire to be anything
but gentle with him. When she kissed the back of his neck, she felt his breathing grow more erratic.
With her fingers she kneaded and caressed his poor, aching member, knowing full well that
completion would elude him in such a manner, though both of them wished it were otherwise.

Fleur was sorely tempted to ignore his cock and instead allow her fingers to roam below his, sadly
still empty, sack, until her finger circled around his pretty little rosebud, until she plunged it inside.
Just the thought of it alone was enough to turn one of her gentle kisses into a not-so-gentle bite and
her fingers to pinch his nipple. The way he arched underneath her touch, the sudden blaze in his
eyes and the feverish need in his mouth for her tongue... he was perfect, just as she'd told him
before.

Reluctantly, she turned his head to the front yet again, and just in time as Amy had gotten up from
the floor and turned around, to look at the both of them with a grin on her face, Danni's release
quite evident on her lips and chin, while Dannielle rested with her head on the sofa, a sheen of
perspiration on her heavy breasts as they rose and fell with laboured breaths.

"You two are adorable," Amy - amusing sight that she was in all her naked glory - gushed at the
sight of them.

Fleur was a tad surprised by Harry's laughter, but found herself joining in it, while her arm wrapped
itself around his chest.

"You are," Amy repeated herself, giggling. The brunette bit her lower lip. "Don't suppose you'd
share?"

Harry's laughter abruptly ended, mouth agape. "Wait, what?"

Fleur's smile went unnoticed by Harry, but not by Amy. "Too soon?" she asked wistfully. Amy
nodded to herself when Fleur said nothing in reply, and her hold on Harry only intensified. "Too
soon. Now then, since you won't share... which drawer?"

"Second from ze bottom."

Her lover was undoubtedly confused about what was going on, but he said nothing. He observed
Amy rummaging through the drawer - in search of something that Fleur herself was familiar with -
or at least as much as she allowed him to, occasionally encompassing him with the full flare of her
own wants and needs, and Allure, stoking the embers within him to a full flame.

Grunts, groans and moans; these she took from him.

Teasing him was a delight.

She relented a little when Amy let gasped and attracted both of their attentions. The brunette witch
turned about and the reason for her sharp intake of air became evident: the enchanted sex toy, that
both her and Danni had used on numerous occasions before, was already embedded firmly inside
her, its flesh-pink length, with no small amount of girth, standing proudly at attention. Amy's
fingers daintily toyed with her new cock and the cum-filled sack hanging beneath it.

Beneath her hand, Fleur felt Harry's heartbeat quicken, though his cock remained still, at least for
the moment.

Fleur said nothing, asked nothing, and only increased her feverish desire to make Harry lose
himself to a bout of passion, even as the two of them watched Amy approach Danni, a not so subtle
sway in her hips. She sank low, though not quite as low to go down on her knees again, as she took
to kissing Dannielle. It would have gone unnoticed when she slipped inside her redheaded friend
were it not for Danni's prolonged moan, with her legs rising and locking around Amy's waist.

What followed... the sounds of the voluptuous and the willowy flesh joining together in shared
motions. It happened again and again, in different strides, at unequal paces, a harmony of disunion
as the union of two witches progressed. The room echoed with their voices and though the exact
meaning of their words might have been lost on her lover, Fleur knew it did not matter, for his cock
had finally started throbbing again beneath her hand, and she smiled.

She turned him around, laying him on his back, and draped herself over him.

His eyes, burning brightly, did not stray from hers and she pressed her lips against his.

Though she was gentle and soft in her approach, the claiming to come - Mine, all mine - would be
anything but.

Fleur was no longer content with bringing Harry back to the Beauxbatons carriage and having her
way with him back there.

The fortuitous moment that led to exposing him to Amy and Dannielle's relationship with one
another was just a minor step.

If she wanted her conquest of him to be lasting, to mean something more than a mere fling, she
would have him take them to places important to him and then take him there, where the memories
of what they'd done would last far, far longer than any scent of hers could linger across his body.
But that is not to say that Fleur would give up such an approach either, for she took great pleasure
in seeing all those witches of Hogwarts flare their nostrils at her scent marking Harry. She doubted
any of them knew what was happening, what caused their inexplicable reactions to Harry's
presence. Maybe a few would, but the rest... what reason would they have, to search among ancient
texts for snippets of knowledge concerning a Veela and her lover?

Perhaps it was childish of her, this particular little game that she played, but she would not give up
- would not give him up. What was hers was hers. And she meant her words when she'd spoken
them to Harry, none would part the two of them, not unless she wished it, not unless she, and she
alone, allowed it. All in all, it was an unlikely prospect for the time being.

She knew what was happening to her, of course. She'd been expecting it the whole time.

She was in love and love, no matter that it was not her first time, had a madness of its own.

Harry told her its name: the Shrieking Shack.

A decreipit, forgotten place, where the passage of time was not the only element which contributed
to its ruin.

They made love there, down on the floor, though a small blanket separated them from the dust and
grime and spells woven into the ratty windows, the holes in the walls, prevented winter from
encroaching and robbing them of their warmth.

And Harry was ever so warm, ever so gentle when he undressed her. For reasons unknown, he
tread carefully around her, as if to touch her more firmly would bruise her, would diminish her.
Foolish boy - he unbuttoned the front of her robes, parted them and with the flat of his thumb
brushed across her bare breast - bruises would pass and I cannot be diminished. Foolish boy, she
thought once more and then opened her mouth for him, welcoming his tongue with hers, as surely
as her body welcomed his questing hands, burning steadily in the tips of his fingers, a path with no
pattern to it blazing up and down.

Up and down - his smile against her lips as he held one of her breasts in his hand and squeezed it
tenderly - and to the side and underneath and all around. Warmth poured out of his mouth and into
hers. Words followed the warmth and though the words were familiar, oft repeated by others and
him as well, they lost none of their importance, not in this moment for sure.

"You're beautiful. You're so bloody beautiful," he repeated, almost whispering, as he went in for
another kiss. And another and another and another. He was slowly learning what it was to be
greedy, yet still affectionate, in love-making.

His hair was a mess, as always, and her fingers all too easily caught in the tangles of black as his
head went lower, kissing her lips one more time, kissing her along the line of her jaw, kissing her
neck, her collarbone, her breasts, her stomach, her legs, her... it took her a moment to realize that
this was his way of worshiping her, paying obeisance that was her due.

She looked down at him, so pretty and perfect on his knees, with only those glasses obscuring his
lovely eyes.

On his knees, where he belonged with her. On his knees as his mouth approached her mound. On
his knees, he kissed her.

It was not long before she joined him down on the floor (his robes discarded, atop of hers nearby)
and he laid beneath her.

"You're beautiful," Fleur had told him - one of her hands cupping his face - just as she was gliding
down his cock, slick with her own juices. She was moving slowly, torturously so, with every
motion calculated, every movement precise.

She was milking him for all his worth.

His eyes were nothing but flames of pure emerald when he suddenly sprung upwards, still buried
inside her, his face now hidden between her breasts as she felt him come undone. Her own release
had yet to come, but her heart had soared high all the same, for she'd seen it blazing in his eyes,
seen that which he sought to hide (miserably so) away: love.

Love unspoken, but true. Love choked back, but very much alive.

So much love, and all for her.

Fleur stroked her lover's hair, her face resting amidst the black; far from done though, for he was
still hard and she was ever so hungry. Up and down, up and down she went, shifting gently in
Harry's lap, his cock's length refusing to turn soft and slip out. Up and down, up and down, Fleur
went. Up and down, up and down, until there was nothing left to take.

The first time they used one was completely unplanned and unexpected.

Fleur had pushed him down on her bed, smiling wickedly as she straddled him, but then a moment
later, Harry yelped in pain.

Confused over what might have caused it, for she'd yet to discard with either of their clothes and
touch him properly, she pulled him up to her and there lying on the bed, where mere moments ago
she'd laid him out on his back...

"What—" Harry started to ask, but then he turned his head and looked at the sex toy that laid atop
the duvet. "Oh".

Somehow, despite all that she'd exposed him to previously, Harry still managed to flush mildly red
in his cheeks.

She laughed at the sight and teased him. "You 'ave no reason to color up, mon cher. I would've
zought I cured you of zat, what wiz all we've done togezzer, non?" Then she inched closer, eyes
half-lidded, her mouth brushing against his. "Or do you flush so prettily for anuzzer reason?" Fleur
saw him look at the toy again from the corner of his eyes, his gaze lingering on it a moment longer
than she'd expected. Inwardly, she grinned. "Enough of zat for now," said Fleur and pushed him
down again, but made sure to reach out first with her hand and move the toy aside, rather than
simply remove it from her bed.

Soon enough, both of their robes were piled down on the floor, discarded in haste and with great
passion.

At first, she'd sucked his cock, her tongue swirled around his glans while her fingers squeezed and
kneaded his swollen sack. Despite that it was far from the first time she'd done it to him, he still
managed to fill up her mouth quickly with his cum, his first load of the day deposited right atop of
her tongue. When she opened her mouth and showed him the amount that still remained inside he'd
bent down on his own and plunged his tongue inside her mouth. They shared his seed, strings of
cum and saliva connecting them even when they parted for breath. Fleur's pussy started dripping as
he gulped it down.

When it was her turn to be satisfied orally, Harry had been all too glad to let her wrap her legs
around him and press most of his face in as deep as possible. His tongue continued to dive in and
tease her, though he did occasionally reach out and lap at her clit in slow motion, the flat of his
tongue surrounding it from all sides as it became engorged from arousal. She had thought to
perhaps direct him once or twice, but he pleasantly surprised her by changing his tempo, by using
fingers alongside his tongue, by never ceasing to build up the flood of pleasure that was slowly
carrying her to the threshold of climax.
He'd learned so well, her precious boy, learned that she craved to feel the sensation of being
stretched with his fingers scrunched together, that she moaned more loudly when he sloppily
kissed her sopping wet cunt as though he was kissing her mouth. But most of all, he'd learned never
to break eye-contact with her, letting her see the lust within him build up, imagining his cock
straining against the sheets, begging for attention, yet never receiving it because her pleasure
always came first.

Once she started shuddering, Harry had readied himself and opened his mouth wide, covering as
much of her slit as he could. Fleur moaned in content, light tremors coursing through her whole
body, as she fed Harry her cum. Her hand clenched and relaxed around his hair as each new squirt
sprayed out and sunk into Harry's mouth and throat.

"Such a good boy," Fleur muttered through a fog of satisfaction, eyes barely open, but still keen, as
the shivers subsided and her orgasm came to an end. Yet Harry still lapped at her soaked pussy and
embedded his face in between its folds as much as he could. Such a hungry boy he was, so starving
for all that Fleur offered him.

Though she could have easily achieved another orgasm with Harry's ever-improving skills with his
mouth, she forewent it and instead gently held onto his hair as she dragged him up towards her. His
nose, mouth and chin were splattered in her juices and her scent that soaked his face so thoroughly
made Fleur shiver from how right it felt to have him like that.

They indulged in some mild kissing, sweet nothings and wicked promises exchanged in the
murmurs and rustles of bed sheets. When Fleur lowered her hand to Harry's rump, he'd tensed up
for a moment, before the tension left him entirely. She moaned into his mouth as her tongue
entangled itself with his, while with her hand she took it upon herself to knead the firm cheeks of
his ass, with the occasional phantom caresses of her finger across his pink hole, to which his cock
twitched.

Blindly searching at first for her wand, Fleur barely had to whisper the incantation for the spell to
cleanse Harry's insides. He reacted quite lovely at that, and she felt his cock harden further as it
began to leak its watery-like pre. The brief look of surprise on his face when she moved her hand
away from his rear entry was dispelled as soon as she brought it to his face and placed the tips of
her index and middle finger atop his lips. She said nothing and waited for him to deduce what she
wanted of him.

Like the good boy that she'd called him earlier, Harry had opened his mouth and took in her
fingers, licking them slowly with his tongue, swirling it around each digit, sucking them in whole
as Fleur clung to him with her other arm. Her moans accompanied his mouth moving up and down
her fingers, and when he let them slip out for one moment she wondered what his purpose for that
might be, but she only had to wonder for a moment before Harry stuck his tongue out of his mouth
and allowed drool to leak from the tip of it and down onto her fingers.

Growling harshly, Fleur took him by his face and savagely attacked his mouth.

"Slut," she called him, her voice thick and rough with passion bubbling up. She saw the flare of
indignation bloom in his eyes and bit him on his lip, not quite gently. "You are a slut, 'arry," she
repeated, in a bolder voice, "but zat is a good zing for us. So long as you are wiz me, and only me,
I see little reason for you to restrain yourself. Be all that you wish to be, mon cher."

"Fuck," Harry had whispered to himself as he closed his eyes, no doubt thinking poorly of himself
for his pleasure. Denial. Denial was useless, so very useless for his cock had throbbed strongly at
her outing his baser urge, his hunger for his fingers.
Fleur teased him "What was zat, 'arry? 'Fuck'? Do you want me to fuck you, 'arry? Is zat it?"

But he chose not to respond with words and instead resumed to suck on her fingers with his mouth,
far more urgently this time.

"Oooh, I zink I have my answer, non? That's it, my 'arry," she encouraged him, parting her fingers
inside his mouth and stretching them about, "suck on zem. Lube zem up for me, mon cher, so I can
fuck your arse properly."

When he opened them, rage and lust warred with one another in his eyes.

But in the end, it was Fleur who won.

It was Fleur who suddenly took her fingers out of his mouth and pushed Harry off her, laid him low
on his belly.

It was Fleur who draped herself across him, her breath scalding his neck and right cheek as she
placed her fingers, again, inside his mouth. When she took them out, she bid him to, "Spit," and he
did. Fleur quickly took to lathering his rosebud with his own saliva, pressing the flat of her fingers
against the twitching hole before she brought them back to his mouth for more.

It was Fleur who'd rammed her fingers inside him, stretching them out to reach and press against
his prostate.

It was Fleur that told him, over and over, how beautiful, how brave he was.

It was Fleur who whispered in his ear, grinning, "Do you want more, mon cher?" with her fingers
buried all the way in.

When she'd finally coaxed an answer from him, that partly self-loathing, partly lustful, "Yes!" Fleur
kissed him.

Fortunately, the toy was in its original state, neither enlarged (she doubted he could handle it) nor
shrunk (though she wished to see his hole stretch around the fleshy girth), but Harry remained
somewhat warry when he saw Fleur bringing it close.

"It's fine, 'arry," she reassured him, "it's not zat large and you will enjoy it, I promise," and gave
him a small peck on the lips.

He squirmed and he fidgeted, but he stayed still while Fleur applied enough lubrication to both the
toy and his hole with her wand. It was easier this time to push her fingers past the rim and she kept
chanting the spell under her breath to make certain no harm would come to him, no matter how
rough or how unaccustomed the upcoming insertion would be for Harry.

Harry had taken a few peaks at the toy, which Fleur encouraged with, "Go on, 'arry, touch it. After
all, you're going to be very well acquainted wiz it fairly soon." She even brought it near his face,
wondering if his mouth might brush against it, but sadly he stayed away and was content only to
look at it and touch with the tips of his fingers. At the moment, the toy remained inanimate,
looking like nothing more than one of the muggle counterparts, but when certain triggers were
activated, well...

Harry would soon find himself the beneficiary of Fleur's own experience with the toy.

"Fleur," Harry uttered her name in a tone thick with arousal, even as anxiety brimmed in his eyes,
"don—"
She shushed him with a finger on his lips. "I won't. You are safe with me, 'arry. I would never 'arm
you."

A lie, and we both know it.

He opened his mouth to speak, but the words never came for Fleur claimed his lips with her own.
It had to be done, for she chose that moment to start pressing the head of the toy against the
entrance to his hole. Harry shivered beneath her and one of his hands found its way to hers; fingers
intertwined, he held hers in a tight grasp.

"Good boy," she breathed out against his lips before she pushed it forward and his rosebud opened.

Fleur greedily sucked in his tongue into her mouth as she worked the toy deeper, its smooth surface
barely encountering any resistance save the natural tightness of the flesh that gripped it. "Such a
good boy," she repeated in between kisses as she took to twisting the dildo around as it was slowly
inserted further. "And so tight, mon cher," breathily Fleur told him, "so much tighter zan when you
'ad only my fingers inside you. But it feels good, non?"

The toy pressed harder against his prostate and he grunted in reply, though she'd have preferred a
moan.

Stealing a peek downwards, she saw Harry pushing himself up and it only served to fan the flames
of her lust higher. Pure animalistic desire flared within Fleur and she bit him on the neck as she
shoved almost the full length of the dildo inside his ass. Whatever sound he might have made from
that was swallowed by the pillow in which he buried his face.

My little boy, you take so well to new experiences and I am glad for it.

Pretty red bloomed on his neck where she bit him, skin torn open by her teeth, and Fleur grew
rougher with her lover, the force with which she used the toy increased as she shoved it harder and
faster, all the while imagining it was her who was doing the fucking while he squirmed underneath
her. But that was untrue, in one part at least, for Harry had lifted his head up from the pillow and
the sounds of pleasures that let loose from his throat were no longer muffled.

He twisted his head about until he found Fleur's lips and kissed her.

"Is that all, Fleur?"

She thought her ears deceived her, but one look into his eyes assured her otherwise.

Oh how they shone brilliantly, but whether it was lust or something else, she could not tell, for
something far stronger lingered there: amusement and defiance. He... he was amused by her. Out of
sheer shock, Fleur had ceased using the toy.

"Is that all you got then?" he taunted her again and gave her a small peck. "It's all right, Fleur, I
understand, you're tire—"

He never got to finish what he started as Fleur clamped down on his mouth with her own, savaging
him with teeth and tongue. Rather than take advantage of the toy's own enchantments she still
persisted in using her own hand to penetrate Harry, but this time she held nothing back as she
violated him. By no means was she gentle about it. And he loved it, she saw.

"Oh you've no idea what you've done, mon cher," growled Fleur in a low voice and bit him on the
shell of his ear.
She bit him everywhere she could, it didn't really matter where so long as it left a mark on his skin.
This boy thought to defy her, thought to toy with her, thought to — oh the clever little bastard.
Fleur hid her grin from him and focused entirely on pounding his hole, though she whispered a
key-word under her breath and enjoyed how Harry's eyes went wide as the toy grew larger while
still within him. A hiss of pain escaped him and Fleur laughed.

"Such a big boy, eh 'arry? What's a bit more for zee likes of you, non? Go on, show me you can
take it like a real man."

Harry winced as the toy expanded yet again and bit the inside of his cheek to avoid the sensations
of both pleasure and pain that permeated his whole being from that small part of him. Fleur gave
him no mercy and muttered the key-word again.

"You fucking bitch," whimpered Harry beneath her.

"Oui, a bitch, but it seems you like it, 'arry," she purred into his ear, "so who am I to deny you?"

When Fleur uttered another key-word Harry closed his eyes shut and clenched his teeth in
anticipation of another enlargement, but instead of a burst of momentary pain he received pleasure,
because the key-word had set it in motion instead and Fleur held it no longer with her hand, but
instead stroked his body as the, now, large dildo thrust in and out by itself. In truth, it was only
slightly larger than his own cock, but for Harry who'd had nothing more than her fingers before
today, it was big enough.

She gazed downwards and fondled his cheeks, watching as they kept parting for the toy's
continuous insertion and removal.

"You like?" she asked him, but he stayed quiet. With a small flick of her wrist, she slapped him on
one of his cheeks and marveled at how lovely it looked when marred red. "It is quite zee 'andy little
toy, don't you agree? Zis way, I can 'ave my way wiz you and still see you take it in your lovely
leetle arse like the proper British wizard zat you are. Oh yes, 'arry, you do like zis, I know zat
wizzout even a single word spoken aloud. You like it and you want more. You will always want
more with me, 'arry."

His forehead was slick with a sheen of sweat, his fingers dug into her skin and if he had her nails
he'd have broken through it.

Honest desire overflowed in the green of his eyes when he told her, "I will always want you," and
pressed his lips to hers.

Fleur softened in her approach despite all and gently kissed him back, eyes shut as she suppressed
her darker urges.

When they moved their faces away from each other, Fleur slowly climbed off his back and
carefully crawled beneath him; no easy task that as he trembled even when lifted up in the air. The
sheets where his crotch was pressed, where she now laid, were completely ruined, wet with
puddles of Harry's lust, and she imagined the pure arousal from them seeping into her skin, stoking
the inferno within. Harry's cock, so very hard against her, would not stop leaking, not as long as the
toy kept at it.

"Shhhh, mon cher," she crooned at him as she took to stroking one side of his face with one hand,
while with the other she guided him towards her, even as the enchanted dildo in his ass kept
forcing him to thrust forward uncontrollably. He may have thought it a relief at first upon entering
her, but Fleur swiftly put that notion out of his mind when she hugged his cock with the walls of
her cunt and timed its contractions in rhythm with the toy. Rather than speak, rather than let loose
another pleasure-tormented cry, Harry took to kissing and biting her, took to pushing his cock
deeper, until he was all the way in, balls deep.

"That's it, 'arry," she goaded him on, "deep in me, where you belong." She kissed his sweaty face
and rocked her hips, coaxing his already leaking member to spill even more of its precious load
inside her. With barely any effort on either of their part, she felt warmth spread between her legs as
he lost control, his tolerance for pleasure already overtaxed from the toy, which kept on steadily
pumping in and out of him, kept pushing out more of his cream in between her dripping wet folds.

Others would call it ruined or sloppy, but she gloried in the sensation that her lover gave unto her
with his too quick release.

"I need more, mon cher, more until your cock is too soft to keep it plugged in," she said in a coy
voice. "I need more until I feel fit to burst, until it all starts leaking out. I need much, much more so
that I can have you feast properly."

"But will it be enough for you, Fleur?"

She took hold of his face in her hand and brought it down to her mouth. "Oh, 'arry, 'aven't you
learned anyzzing by now?"

Tenderness of affection smoothed the roughness in his voice when he asked, "Never, then?"

"Never," she affirmed with a hungry smile as they resumed their coition.

It was no trick of light when his mouth curved into a smile, but she had little time to ponder
anything more as Harry, cock still hard, mustered his strength and renewed his efforts. Over and
over, he spilled himself inside her - speared her cunt with his spasming cock (the stream burst into
her womb) - delicately tweaked her nub of flesh with pads of his fingers (the flood barely
contained) - suckled on her teats with bared teeth (desperate for the milk of madness); aided by her
depravity, Harry lost himself in a place that he'd been searching for (that she'd prepared for
him) all along.

Her admiration, her love, her obssession, Fleur professed to him, even if only in a tongue he didn't
understand.

It was his due, after all, and one day (very, very soon) he'd give Fleur hers.

There was something odd about the village when no student of Hogwarts was allowed to visit it,
Fleur noticed. It seemed much more peaceful and... well, boring. For all their uncouthness, at least
they added some liveliness to the place, if nothing else. Yet they didn't have the freedom to wander
off to the place like the Beauxbatons students did, so quiet it remained that day.

Still, it was not all bad. Yes, yes, they'd ended up in the back room of the inn again, but at least this
time it was their choice as opposed to being forced there due to lack of options. They chose it for
privacy's sake, and the view wasn't too shabby either. There was something quite serene about
watching the slow snowfall through web-patterned glass-windows.

Amy was sitting across her and Dannielle, all three indulging in the brief silence while they waited
for their orders to arrive.

It was no surprise that Fleur's mind was drawn to the memory of sharing that exact same corner
with Harry and the fun they had. It was becoming a rather nasty habit that, reminiscing and losing
herself amidst the echoes of pleasure within the memories. She couldn't help it, Harry was in her
thoughts most of the time, and it was always so distracting.

So pleasantly distracting.

"It's becoming rather intense, isn't it, Fleur?" Amy inquired and broke Fleur away from her train of
thoughts.

"Oh I don't know, I think things are steadily progressing as they are," she replied with a toothy
smile.

It had been but three days since Harry had fucked her, had made love to her, in her bed, with one of
her toys put to use for the very first time since they became lovers. Though there'd be more to
come, one must always treasure one's first times.

"Hmm, well, you'd know best, I suppose," said Amy. "Still, you are taking your time with him,
aren't you? Usually by now, we'd be sharing him fair and square, and he'd be putty in our hands."
Her friend teased her. "Losing your touch?"

"I don't know, am I?" retorted Fleur and gave her a soft smack on the back of her head with a flick
of her wand.

"Touchy, touchy," Amy muttered at her friend, but the smile that twisted her lips took the sting out
of the words she'd spoken.

"Blessed Circe, must you do this every time?"

Both witches turned to look at their friend who'd been until that point busy with reading through
several of British gossip magazines, the Witch Weekly being the current one held in her hands.
Fleur cared little for these things, she'd had few encounters with the wizarding press back home
and found them to be very incessantly dull and boorish.

"Do what?" asked Amy.

Danni put down the WW and sighed. "This! Every time we get some alone time with Fleur, you
ask her where she's at with Harry Potter in their relationship, what she's done with him so far, what
she's going to do to him, and you go on and on until she slaps you on the head and then you snipe
at each other and an hour later you make up and forget all about it."

"Poor Danni," Fleur pouted and wrapped an arm around her friend's shoulder, "feeling left out?
Well then, how about you tell us where you've been for the past few days and if you've been
spending them with your dear and sweet Rojer?"

Amy giggled and Dannielle's eyes lit up.

"Roger is such a dear - oh hush, Amy - he is! So eager to please. And quite a magnificent cock, too,
but well... it's not like I let him use it on me too often, and when he does, he's like an eager puppy
in cleaning up his own mess. Took a bit of doing, naturally, but he now simply can't imagine a
single meal without it being glazed all over."

Fleur shook her head. She could understand, up to a point, Danni's fondness for feeding a wizard
his own cum - Morgana only knew how many times Harry had dined on her creampied pussy - but
not when it came to involving actual food. Still, it was not something that she didn't know about
her friend for years now, so she could only be amused by Danni's retelling.
"And you, Amy? What have you been up to? Found yourself a playmate? Or has Danni been
sharing her boy-toy with you?"

Pride shone in Amy's pale green eyes. "Oh she's been sharing all right, but I'm not sure Roger is too
fond of being shared. Mind, the boy says little himself, but then again, I do my best to keep his
mouth full at all times." Amy looked a bit nervous at that, but her arousal was quite obvious to
Fleur and Danni and she shifted in her seat under their curious stares. "I'm afraid I've used up what
we had of Polyjuice in my eagerness. Sorry, Fleur, I... I just couldn't resist."

She reached across the table and patted her friend on the hand. "It's fine, Amy. I've still a way to go
with Harry and for now I think it's best that I approach him on my own, rather than bring you two
along. The poor boy just might have a heart attack if I were to bring you into our bed all of a
sudden. It's his loyalty, you see. Not that he didn't appreciate the show you gave us."

Amy nodded. "Well, if you need help at any time, just say the word. And if you do end up needing
the Polyjuice, the new batch ought to finish brewing just a little after the Second Task is over. I'll
make sure to keep some saved on the side, just in case."

Amy, always so lustful. Had she been born a boy, I've no doubt there'd be many a bowlegged witch
at Beauxbatons.

"Do go easy on Roger, it wouldn't do any good to frighten him," said Dannielle, a tad reproachful.

"You don't have to worry about that, Danni," replied Amy and smiled. "He may be reluctant at first
- and aren't they always? - but once we get going, he moans like a bitch in heat for more and by the
end of it, the poor boy's turned into a puddle."

The two witches kept on with their talks about Roger Davies until their orders finally came - some
light meals and Butterbeer - upon which they ceased all manner of talk and just enjoyed the silence.
Once they were done eating, Amy had a few suggestions to offer Fleur about how she could handle
Harry, what toys to use and so on, whereas Dannielle took to reading the Witch Weekly again and
only occasionally lifted her eyes up from it.

Not even halfway through it, Fleur felt Danni suddenly stiffen on her side and turned her head to
see why it happened.

Danni had her plump lips pursed together and an intense look in her eyes. The redheaded witch
shook her head and then placed the paper down, before she looked at Fleur. Yet she remained
silent. Fleur felt this was a bit unusual for her friend.

"Danni?" she asked. "What's wrong?

"They've wrote an article about you."

"Nothing odd about that." She was a Tri-Wizard champion after all, gossip was par for the course.

"Not just you, Fleur. You and Harry."

She might have ignored what her friend said had it not been for her tone. That the local papers
talked about two champions becoming a couple was not unexpected, but... "What do they exactly
say?" Fleur turned her full attention at Dannielle.

"There's the usual stuff, about how you've seduced him through extensive use of Veela blood and
sex magic."
Fleur rolled her eyes. If she'd actually used the full extent of her Veela abilities, Harry would have
been left a drooling husk with nothing but absolute obedience towards her in his mind, what little of
it remained. She had no need of that.

"Then there's the financial angle too, they're speculating your family back home is suffering
through some woes of their own making, and you're making a play to pilfer some of the gold from
the Potter vault, if not the entire fortune."

"And?"

"And..." Danni nibbled on her lip nervously. "It might be better if you read this yourself."

She took the proffered item and began to swiftly search through it for the article in question.

By the time Fleur was finished with it, the paper had burned to cinders in her hands and her eyes
had turned black as night.

She departed soon after from the Three Broomsticks, but apologized to Danni for destroying her
copy of the magazine. Her friend waved it off and offered her another copy that she had lying
around. For a moment, Fleur hesitated but took it with her and gave Danni a grateful nod. Her
heavy winter coat clung to her body as she quickly strode through the empty streets of Hogsmeade
and she still had unmelted snow on it when she entered the Great Hall seeking her quarry.

Harry was sitting at the Gryffindor table with his freckle-faced friend, talking and laughing about
something.

He turned her way even before she was anywhere near, a pleased gleam in his eyes.

"Fleur," he greeted her with an earnest, innocent smile. Harry rose from the bench and was quick to
kiss her on the mouth, though she barely gave any affection to him in return, something that didn't
escape his notice.

"'arry," she said, "can we go somewhere? I'd like to talk wiz you."

His demeanor shifted, from joyous to cautious. He turned towards his friend and said, "I'll catch up
later." The blue-eyed boy only shook his head in amusement and shooed him away, though he
didn't stay on his own for long, as the Ravenclaw witch he'd accompanied to the Yule Ball
appeared from nowhere and promptly sat down in his lap.

While departing from the Great Hall with Harry by her side, Fleur didn't miss how several pairs of
eyes keenly tracked them. Another time, she might have thought they were nothing more than the
usual envious and jealous looks that always accompanied her wherever she went, but not now, not
after she'd read that garbage in the Witch Weekly.

For his part, Harry seemed genuinely confused, but still followed, and some of her own tenseness
had dissipated in response.

He doesn't know, she whispered in the cold, dark corners of her mind. Please, let it be so. Let him
be true.

If anyone was surprised to see Fleur leading Harry by the hand inside the Beauxbatons carriage,
they said little or nothing about it. Only after they'd reached her room, only after she sealed it up
with dozens of the most powerful privacy spells in her repertoire, only then did she turn towards
Harry and share words with him, few that they were.

"Sit," she told him and he did, down on the bed.

From beneath her coat, from the deep pocket of her robes, Fleur pulled out a scrunched up copy of
WW and tossed it at him.

"Read," she commanded and he obeyed, beffuddled as he was.

It didn't take him long to find the relevant gossip piece in that utter waste of paper.

While he read, Fleur occupied herself by changing clothes, disrobing and robing herself into
something more comfortable, something that allowed her skin to breathe. Yet despite the almost
non-chalant way she went about it, momentarily being naked in the presence of her lover, there
was tension in the room. Though her hair needed no brush to ever touch it, the act itself was of
mild comfort to Fleur and it bled off some of the irritation bundled up inside her as she tended to
her long hair.

And though she sat in front of the mirror and her eyes stared forward, she did not see herself, not
truly. Instead, Fleur saw the countless little betrayals in her past, betrayals she had never deserved,
and against her will she felt the Veela stir from slumber. It would have been so simple, to do away
with restraint and control, to turn away from pesky human notions of civility.

But what would that have accomplished, without proof presented beforehand?

So deep in her thoughts, Fleur didn't see or feel Harry as he approached her. Not at first, at least.

Awareness of him she gained when the palms of his hands laid across her shoulders. In the mirror's
reflection she noted that his eyes had grown dim, but not dull, their brilliance darkened by even
darker thoughts, and his face was as if made of stone.

"You think it was me who talked to them about this?"

The brush stopped, her hand hung in the air gripping it. She turned her head to look at him.

"Did you?"

It was the closest he would ever come to striking her. His arms remained by his side, yes, but the
bunching of muscles, the twitch in his jaw, and most of all, the loathing in his eyes, the kind she'd
never before seen aimed at her... She had wronged him. She'd wronged her lover and murdered the
unquestionable love that he held for her.

The brush fell with a muffled thud to the floor and Fleur was gone from the chair, her arms around
him.

"I'm sorry," said Fleur gently. "I'm sorry zat I did not believe in you. I am sorry zat I did zis to us."

What tension there might have been only moments ago had vanished completely.

He fell forward, into the embrace, and his hands clutched at her clothes, fingertips pressed into her
skin, bruised the flesh, punished her for her lack of faith. But that was alright, she deserved that
and much worse for doubting him.

Harry let himself be led to the bed and when they laid there, they laid fully clothed, facing each
other.
The desire for physical intimacy was strong in both of them (she could smell it) but she resisted the
siren's call. No sex, no copulation for the two of them until she regained his trust, his faith. To try
and bargain it back with her cunt would have been insulting and demeaning, to both of them, but
more to him than her. His affection couldn't be purchased, only given freely.

Riddled with doubts his love may have become, perforated by the unpardonable sin of mistrust,
but she would mend it.

Fleur would mend what she had broken when she faltered in her moment of weakness.

Only after that she would set herself to the task of finding the one who had caused this temporary
divide.

The Veela within sang with murderous glee.

Bit by bit, she'd cut out the doubt from his heart and his mind, and always in her bed. They'd laid
together bereft of clothes and she felt his desire pressing against her many times, but every time she
staved it off, no matter that they both craved it.

A single week, that was all it took in the end. Some would say it was too quick, too soon, but for
Fleur it was too slow, too long. Too long since she had him in her bed and between her legs. Too
long since she touched his skin and invoked the flames of passion. Too long since he looked upon
her with anything but love in his eyes. And it was love, love so dear and pure, love come again
from hatred so dark it infected the very air around them that day.

He'd come to her, of his own volition, found her room and once she granted him entry Harry
crashed into her violently.

She didn't say anything, didn't ask. Words would do little good for either of them at that point.

His mouth latched onto her neck and suckled, bit and kissed harshly.

Fleur had started guiding them to her bed, but halfway there Harry's face moved away from her
neck.

"No, not here, not now," he'd said, voice brimming with anger.

He allowed her little time to fix her clothes and dress properly for venturing outside, impatience
clear in his eyes.

"Zen show me where, mon cher," replied Fleur as she fastened the scarf around her neck.

Hand in hand, he led her to and through Hogwarts. Before ever reaching the Great Hall, they
started their descent.

Before they'd even gotten anywhere close to the claustrophobic classroom, she'd felt his tension,
the pulse in his hand as he led the way underneath his invisibility cloak. His fingers twitched,
intertwined as they were with hers. His jaw-line hardened. His nostrils flared. Her lover was being
consumed with rage and hatred. It was beautiful. He was beautiful.

Harry'd told her nothing of why he brought her there. The Shrieking Shack, she could understand
that one to a certain point; a place where his father and their friends spent much of their days, a
place where Harry had regained a godfather previously lost and unknown to him, and now that
place would forevermore be the place where he'd made love to her as well.
But this — this dimly lit space, where jars with ingredients and beakers filled the shelves on the
walls, where very little natural light ever came, where one could almost hear, one could almost
imagine to hear the underwater tides of the nearby lake, their presence made very little sense and
Harry, it seemed, had something other than words on his mind at the moment.

He slammed the door shut, and she'd just barely managed to spell it silent before the sound could
alert anyone passing near. Her wand was still in her hand when Harry grabbed her by the wrist and
pushed her against the wall, his mouth more akin to a maw that sought to devour all that Fleur had
to offer. None of his previous gentleness could be found. His other hand had found itself in her
long white-gold hair, roughly pulling it down, exposing her throat to his teeth. Fleur moaned at his
brutality.

Once more, he played the beast, and she was willing to let him, to see how far he could actually go
with it, if he'd lose himself to the act, if he'd bruise and make her bleed, or if he might yet turn into
a boy unsure of the deeds he now performed.

Harry did not suckle on her flesh so much as he bit down on it. Bruises would linger and she would
wear them proudly.

Then his hand shifted from her wrist to her throat, as if to choke her.

"So angry, mon cher," murmured Fleur, her eyelids hanging low, her voice turning throaty, full of
desire and taunting. Her right hand brushed against his crotch where she felt how stiff Harry was
beneath his robes. "So 'ard," she tittered at him.

He slapped her for that and then he mauled her mouth, leaving her lips swollen.

And when they fucked on top of the teacher's desk, partially clothed, partially uncovered with her
tits jiggling, Harry had raised her legs in the air and held them against his shoulders as he brutally
thrust into her, brought her pert derrière to the edge and then forced it back on the cold, rough
surface when he hilted himself anew. He was quite incensed that time after time she very vocally
expressed her pleasure and announced each of her orgasms. The puddles of cum underneath them
grew ever larger.

Harry had managed to push himself to the brink three astonishingly violent times in that wonderful
hour that they spent in the dreary dungeon classroom, but rather than press his mouth to her sloppy
pussy and suck their cum out, Harry had done the unexpected: he took his wand in hand and
conjured a glass toy for Fleur to plug herself up with, while she still laid her on back, down on the
table, looking up at him with a raised eyebrow. She wasn't surprised with the toy itself, but rather
him.

"My, my, where 'ave you learned zis, I wonder?" She didn't bother concealing her grin when she
asked, "And what can I expect in return, hmm? Will you wear somezzing for me as well, mon
cher?" Fleur was careful when she slid in the toy and sealed her weeping folds shut with its square
base, though she didn't hide her joy and moaned in delight at the squelching sound.

He'd almost rejected her when she told him what she wished of him, but in the end he wore his
cage that day.

No one in the Great Hall saw how Fleur's hand wandered beneath his robes and toyed with his
spell-encased cock; prevented from achieving an erection, it frustrated him while she fondled and
stroked his flaccid member, but he had a laugh of his own as well when Fleur stilled abruptly and
choked down a moan as the glass-toy inside her had started vibrating soundlessly.
"You'll pay for zat," Fleur threatened him in a low growl, while the others around them sat
oblivious.

He leaned to her and with a twist of his wand increased the stimulations that her cum-filled cunt
was receiving. "Promise?"

Later, when sunlight was gone and only moonlight illuminated Hogwarts and its grounds, Fleur
had deemed enough teasing on her part had been done and she granted Harry mercy. Atop the
highest Tower in Hogwarts, she took him in hand and gave him sweet release. Atop the Astronomy
Tower, she pleasured him and he her, their voices echoing out into the night. Time and time again,
their throats gave way to sounds more appropriate for beasts than humans.

But once they thought themselves satiated and they laid, their skins coated with a fine sheen of
sweat, on the discarded robes beneath them, Harry had chosen to finally unburden himself. He told
her of the cause of his anger and named the culprit for the recent rift, now mended, between them.
But suspicions was all he had, and without proof no one on the staff would believe him.

Through every fiber of her being, rage wove itself like a fine thread of silk, malignant and
terrifying.

Rage aflame. And only held at bay by Harry. His arms were around Fleur as he kept her from
storming away from the Tower.

"No, Fleur, I won't let you do that," he'd told her in the darkness where they'd made love, where
they fucked but moments ago.

She ceased her struggle against him. For all his appearance, he was surprisingly strong.

When she faced him, she knew that he saw her face brutalized with malice and murder.

"Why?" asked Fleur in a shriek. Her arms rose and she pressed her palms against the side of his
face. "Why do zis for 'im?"

Harry shook his head. "You misunderstand, I'm not. He'll get his, but not like this."

"But why?"

He hesitated for a moment and no more.

"Because I'm selfish," Harry confessed. "Because I don't want to share you with anyone else, don't
want anyone else to see you when you're like this." He stretched forth his hand, took a single strand
of her long hair, more bone than white gold in the light of the winter moon, and twisted it around
his fingers. When he lifted his eyes up to meet hers, his face bore a faint smile. "You've no idea, do
you, how beautiful you are to me. Even now, when you're absolutely mad and want to smash his
face in."

I don't want that. I want to string him up and bleed him dry. I want to break his bones, heal him
and break them again. I want to watch him die by the inches for the offenses given to us. I want you
there by my side when he dies and I want your love for it.

Fleur sighed and pressed her forehead against his. "Silly leetle boy. My silly leetle boy." She gave
him a peck on the lips and encircled his torso with her arms. "I'll do zees for you, but if he does
somezzing again, I make no promises."

"I'm not asking you to."

They stood like that, in silence and naked, for a while longer. He clearly had no idea of what to
speak any further, and Fleur...

She broke the uneasiness with words and with a gesture, her fingernails grazing across Harry's
cheek in an unkind way. "I find myself very angry, mon cher. And I do not wish to go to my bed
yet, not wiz zoughts like zese. Will you 'elp me, 'arry?"

He shivered under her touch, for they both knew Fleur wouldn't (couldn't) be gentle.

And yet he still took hold of her hand and pressed a kiss to it. "Anything for you, Fleur."

They'd left their marks on the Astronomy Tower that very night and gave birth to rumors that a
new ghost had started haunting the place. When they heard of it next morning, Harry and Fleur
shared a private laugh, just as they shared a soreness between them; in their violent conquests of
one another's flesh, they'd broken the soundproofing spells.

Harry held true to his promise and proved himself, to Fleur, a most vicious boy.

Of all the students and staff that sat in the Great Hall for the first meal of the day, only Fleur and
Harry were undisturbed and unsurprised when a student from the Slytherin table started screaming
and clawing at his face. It was a grisly affair when all was said and done, and the damage inflicted
healed with poultices and potions, but the suffering would linger in his mind.

It didn't take long for the curious ones to find out what exactly had happened. Someone had gone
into the hospital wing and took a peek at the medical report from Madam Pomfrey; a great deal of
it was technical terms, but the gist of matters was quite simple: Draco Malfoy's tongue had been
eaten away by an Acid Pop concealed in his food, but whereas the regular candy numbed the
nerves before burning through the tongue, this particular sample had all of its safety enchantments
removed and within it someone had poured an odd mixture to make the eyes bleed as well. A
ghastly thing, all had agreed.

Naturally, the ugly potions professor had sought to blame Harry, and had dragged him by his robes
to the Headmaster, demanding a thorough interrogation. But his wish for an interrogation never
came through, as Fleur had also come to the Headmaster's office, tagging along, and said that
Harry could have had nothing to do with the matter, as he'd been with her for the past few days,
rarely leaving her presence and spending much of his time in the Beauxbatons carriage.

"Your word counts for nothing," the sallow-skinned man spat out. "Of course you'd claim Potter
had nothing to do with it."

"Severus," the elderly wizard warned him with but a single word, "enough." Then he turned
towards them. "Harry, do you know anything about this?"

But Harry only shook his head and played at being innocent. "Nothing, Professor Dumbledore. No
more than anyone else that was in the Great Hall, sir." He held his gaze locked with his
Headmaster's, never bowing down or looking aside.

Dumbledore looked very tired when he removed the half-moon spectacles from his long, crooked
nose and rubbed them clean with a corner of his flamboyantly colored robe's sleeve. He sighed
before he put them back on.

"Very well, Harry. That'll be all then, you may go."

And as the two of them turned to leave, the Headmaster spoke once more. "I trust that if you do
hear something about who might have played such a highly inappropriate prank on a fellow student
that you'll inform your head of house or myself. It wouldn't do well for us to present ourselves as
poor hosts to," he nodded his head towards Fleur, "our esteemed guests."

"Of course, Professor Dumbledore," replied her lover, his hand wound tight in hers.

They left the office, and the bitter potions master behind with his unproven accusations, true
though they were.

Neither allowed the other a chance to slip up as they passed through the hallways of Hogwarts, and
so they walked in silence.

Once they were inside Fleur's room, the two of them looked at each other, hidden smiles
uncovered, and burst into laughter.

It was a hearty thing, full of joy and malice, and it pleased her greatly to see him act so in defense
of their privacy.

Harry's laughter ended abruptly when Fleur shut his mouth close with her own and pulled him into
a heated embrace, her hands undoing his robes gently, sharp fingernails barely touching his skin. It
didn't take much to set him ablaze and wrap her legs around his waist as he pushed her back,
Fleur's bare bottom on the window sill with his cock sheathed inside her.

Have me one more time, my love, before I shred away the last tatters of our sanity, before I ruin
you for all else.

Merely a week remained until the day of the Second Task.

It was a school day for all students of Hogwarts, and as it was still early in the morning, the
Gryffindor Tower was completely empty, save for Harry himself, who laid in his four-poster bed,
still asleep. And Fleur stood right next to it, watching.

She'd grown tired of the same old formula to their encounters, where one or the other would lead in
dominance, and then the roles would switch for their next copulation. It was time for her dear boy
to learn the truth.

Getting into the Gryffindor Tower was not a hard feat, though granted Fleur had assistance from
that quirky little blonde Ravenclaw witch who seemingly had anticipated Fleur's need. It was
somewhat disconcerting, and Fleur worried whether she was really that transparent in her intent, or
whether Lovegood knew more than her otherwise distant stares suggested.

No matter, I have not refused her advice, I've acted on it and now here I am. Here at last, sweet
Harry.

The first spell that jumped from the tip of her wand had put Harry into an even deeper sleep,
insuring he would not yet wake. The second, third and fourth guaranteed privacy - the bed's
curtains closed around them, sealed shut and impervious to any physical force that might try to part
them aside - and some small measure of security, in the form of trivial and numerous charms,
against being discovered. The fifth, however, was aimed at Harry yet again. What little clothes he
had on him, Fleur had Vanished. Then, she took to pulling down the blanket, until it laid crumpled
at the foot of the bed and he laid nude before her. The tip of her wand glowed a faint red as she
applied it across his skin, taking great care not to press too hard as she removed all excess bodily
hair; though Harry was far from being hairy, Fleur much preferred a smooth canvas.
Then it was time for Fleur's own undressing. Once again, beneath her robes she wore nothing. Her
breasts rose and fell with each breath, and her heartbeat increased by a little. The robes she left
hanging over the bed's headboard, but her wand she still had in hand. Fleur wet her lips as a flutter
of excitement started spreading from the pit of her stomach. Her breathing grew more labored,
accompanied by small noises from her throat as her hands shook, fingers curled crudely around her
wand.

Hastily, she snapped four Incarcerous spells at Harry, coils of rope jumping into existence as they
wrapped themselves around her lover's ankles and wrists, securing him to the bed where he laid,
making absolutely certain there would be no escape.

Then she mounted him - bare flesh against bare flesh - as her whole body was being consumed by
the tremors.

The change was about to begin.

Out from her mouth escaped a gasp of pain and pleasure intertwined. Fleur hunched over on the
bed, each palm on a different side of her lover's pillow, as the Veela within begun her emergence.
She stared at Harry's blissfully ignorant, smiling face - lost in pleasant dreams, one that would soon
wake to a nightmare that he would come to love - as her own face started sporting a smile as well,
though it held no innocence or gentleness about it.

A small amount of saliva drooled through her clenched teeth and landed down on the sheets as
another tremor shook her.

Fleur arched upwards, her hands — her fingers turning into talons — an inky blackness spreading
out from her pupils, across the blue and white of her eyes — the crack and snapping of bones as her
feet turned into claws — the racing pain down the back of her spine as the human hair she had
(save for her head) was being replaced with silvery, soft and thick plumage.

A few more changes had accompanied the other ones, but they were minuscule in comparison, and
by the end of the whole thing, the French witch known as Fleur Delacour was gone; the Veela had
taken her place.

The emergence of the Veela did not leave Fleur bereft of her senses, it merely superimposed the
instincts of an ancient race over a younger one's. She was still Fleur, deep inside, but what notions
of propriety, morality might have once bound her - if they'd ever bound her at all - now were
completely obliterated as nothing but the Veela remained.

She smiled and lowered her face to her lover's neck. With her beak-like nose, she prodded at him,
inhaling her own scent off his skin, a small hum of content reaching out from her throat. This —
this was her lover. Her mate. He reeked of her. He was marked. And that was good, since she liked
the boy, liked him very much. He would be a good match for her, she knew.

Talons ghosted across his cheeks and her long, pink tongue scalded the skin where it and its saliva
touched. He twitched in his sleep, muscles tensing up and relaxing beneath her. The pale flesh
would look beautiful when she marred it with her touch.

However, irritation flared in Fleur at his obliviousness, even though it was spell-wrought and of her
own making.

If anyone had stumbled across them in that moment, they would have looked upon Fleur and
thought her a monster - her long hair had fallen down around her face, her nose long and sharp, but
nowhere near as sharp as her pearly whites - come to ravage an innocent, though he was no
innocent at all in fact, not when he carried her scent so well and true.

Her wand, she still clutched at, if a bit clumsily. After all, talons lacked the finesse and grace that
human digits were capable of.

With words unspoken - not aloud, not in her mind - she pushed her intent at him and took from him
something precious.

Then she dispelled the artificial yoke of slumber from him, before sending another spell at him,
right at his gut, and doing away with her wand by tossing it at the tightly shut bed-curtains, where
it remained stuck, suspended by a sticking charm.

Harry woke with a yelp of pain and tried to leap up, but the ropes constricted around him and
allowed him to rise only partially in the air before tightening at their mistress' command and
pulling him down again. His eyes were wide open, filled with fear.

"Who's there?" he asked, even as he tried to wriggle away, to push the intruder away from him.

Again, her talons touched his skin, but this time it was not quite as gentle. She brushed them
against his cheek at first, before forcing them into his hair, yanking on it, exposing his throat for
her. Submit, she willed him to understand, submit.

But he didn't. Instead he tried trashing about, to throw her off, but it all failed. Everything that he
tried had been a waste of his time. He could no sooner dislodge her than he could dislodge the
heart from his chest and continue to live.

His eyes roamed the space in front of him, never focusing on one single thing. Always in motion,
those pretty greens of his, fumbling about, searching for an answer or escape. An escape from a
darkness only she could grant.

"Who's there?" he asked again, his voice filled with confidence that was as false as the sun's
warmth in winter.

Fleur's response came in the form of a kiss, face angled so that her nose would not be in the way,
and her tongue plundered his mouth, fiercely twisting around his tongue, teasing it, welcoming it,
bidding him to recognize her. Her teeth were quick to sink into his lower lip - and he cried out from
the pain - pulling at it and breaking it so that the warmth contained in his blood would reach her, so
that she might indeed pour back her own warmth into him all the more effectively. With blood-
stained lips, teeth and tongue, Fleur relished the coppery taste in her mouth and grew ever more
hungry for Harry.

She would have devoured him - skin, flesh, bone and marrow - if he'd not responded, but he did.

Reluctantly, at first, his tongue moved alongside hers, his mouth recognizing her before his
conscious mind could.

A moment's breath, that's all that she gave him to reccupperate and in that moment he called out a
name.

"Fleur?" his voice trembled.

She wanted to laugh from joy, but her throat was no more fit for laughter than it was for words, so
Fleur nodded instead, grinning. Oh if he could only see himself, so beautiful when bloodied, so
beautiful when bound and beneath her.
"Wha— what's hapened, Fleur?" He twisted his hands again, trying to regain his freedom, in
futility. "Why am I tied down?"

Words... this was no time for words. Not when there were deeds to be done, submissions to be
wrested, lovers to be tamed.

Fleur attacked his mouth again, avoiding any further blood-letting with her teeth, dabbing her
scorching tongue across his wounds, forcing it between his lips, holding his head by the hair in
between both of her taloned hands. He tasted so lovely and his moans were finally leaping past the
boundary of his throat, along with the grunting that accompanied his hips bucking.

But in another short recess from Fleur's frenzy, Harry had managed to ask, "Fleur... why can't I
see?"

Fleur bared her teeth at him and once again yanked him by the hair from frustration, baring his
throat. Questions, questions, questions! She had little use for words that did not serve to proclaim
his submission to her. But how to make him understand?

As tenderly as she could, she scratched him on the scalp and the back of his neck, while her lips
she wet and started pressing against the expanse of his flesh, which continued to grow ever
warmer. At first, she was gentle as possible, but when he started to open his mouth, when she knew
that another question was to pass past his lips, Fleur bit down onto him, easily breaking skin with
her sharp teeth, drawing blood, drawing out his pain. Once words were replaced by pain, she would
soothe the minor wounds by dragging her tongue across them, simultaneously feeding herself and
staving off any further discomfort for him.

Down and down she went and in her trail she left him bloodied: one wound was just below the
collarbone, another across his ribs and for the third one she brought her face to his chest again and
bit down on his nipple, thrilling in his screams of pain.

Down and down she pulled away, until her face was facing his cock, which stood at attention,
proud and hard, throbbing and slick with pre. Between her talons, she enshrined his sack, so
swollen with precious seed that would become her feast.

From the first drop of saliva onto his member, he twitched, for the heat of it stung for a moment
before it took root deeper within, inflaming his desire for her, just as all her previous ministrations
had already done. He writhed beneath her while she licked up and down the full length of his shaft,
occasionally twisting the wet organ to the side, letting it scoop up the few dribbles of pre that
managed to trickle down past his foreskin as she pushed it upwards to contain his spillage.

Fleur kissed his smooth, hairless sack, nuzzling her face into his crotch, eager to fill her nostrils
with his scent; it was only right, after all, seeing as she'd done everything possible to flood his with
her own. She listened to his gasps of pleasure as she took to cradling and sucking one of his balls
into her mouth, carefully rolling it around with her tongue, avoiding the sharp teeth. Fleur relished
in it, relished in the obvious power she held over him, and she laughed at all those witches who
thought that to have any part of a wizard's genitals in their mouths was to submit, when in truth it
was the reverse; for how could anyone think that such an act, entrusting another with one's
vulnerability, was ever one of dominance?

She fondled them, kissed them, licked them and did the same for his cock before she took to
engulfing him with her mouth in a slow descent. Sadly, the elongated nose didn't allow for her to
swallow him whole from an upright position so she forced his cock to lay on the side, while her
face she laid down on his stomach. She hummed as one inch at a time vanished inside her, until all
of them rested fully inside her warm and wet mouth. Her lover whimpered, but he still struggled
minutely.

In truth, Fleur could have prolonged the torture, dragged it out of him and then cut him off just
before his release, but patience was never a virtue of any Veela, let alone her. It didn't take much,
he'd been leaking excessively by the time her hand had started jacking him off into her mouth and
not even three minutes later, her lover's seed started spurting out. The taste was exquisite, just as
she knew it would after those changes she had introduced to his diet. Not only was it almost
entirely void of bitterness, but both the volume and thickness had increased exponentially.
Greedily, she gulped it all down - her cheeks hollowing out as she sucked it all out - as his cock
shot it straight into her throat, one spurt after another, while she helped herself to it with forceful
motions of her hand. This time, she was not in the mood for sharing. It was all for her.

"Fleur," he called out and she practically trilled at the note of longing (or was it love?) in his voice.

You're learning, Harry.

Gently, she extracted his cock from her mouth, giving the head a few pecks and a lick or two
before she moved upwards, to lay beside Harry, if a bit higher in bed than he was. As she kissed
him on the brow, she saw his mouth trembling, reaching out to kiss lips that were nowhere near
his, parting and closing in expectation of cum that she'd already gobbled all up.

But if it was cum he wished to have from her, cum she would provide, fresh and plenty of it.

It was only when she straddled his chest that Harry's face showed its surprise. Before, he had been
distracted by the myriad sensations she evoked from him, but now, the truth was staring at him in
the face, even though he could not see it.

She pushed herself only slightly more upwards, just enough to touch his chin and rest herself across
his mouth if she wished to.

Harry's head backed away, understandably, and his face frowned in confusion. "Fleur," said Harry
uncertainly, "what is that?"

Again with the questions. Fleur sighed.

With one hand she kept his head firmly in place - there would be no running away from this - and
with the other placed herself fully atop his mouth. The scent of it, so powerfully musky, left him no
doubt about what it was that lingered on his lips, but he still kept them shut, despite that Fleur
wanted a very different response from him. No matter, you will enjoy it all the same.

She grabbed a clump of his hair between her talons and yanked, caused him to gasp out in pain.

Opportunity granted, Fleur took full advantage of it and pushed herself inside Harry's mouth,
muffling his protests.

He looked so sweet, so deliciously confused and she dearly wished she'd not taken his sight -
temporarily though it was.

Her hold on his hair remained, but it wasn't quite as rough. Ultimately, she wanted him willing.

Words were beyond her in this form, but perhaps...

Fleur opened her mouth and started singing. It was a trilling of a high, yet soothing note, and she
kept still while singing it, only partially enveloped within her lover's mouth. She sang (throbbing
with desire all along) and with the song she used a crude form of the Allure that was rarely used in
recent times, as it didn't bewitch the listeners, it couldn't enthrall them as effectively as a witch's
magic combined with the aural Allure could, it only served to lower one's inhibitions and nothing
more. One would not do with its influence what one was not inclined to in the first place without it.
She could no more change his mind, shift him from one way of thinking to another, than she could
soar to the moon under her own power, witch or Veela.

Her song grew stronger as she felt her whole being reverberate and glow.

She sang and sang until she felt his tongue move.

He couldn't do much with it, truth be told, but he tried his best. At first, his tongue had laid
completely flat in his mouth as he swiped across the underside of it, but then he'd turned it to the
side, swirling about, teasing her. Fleur, widely grinning, chose to help him along and started
moving in slow sea-saw motions. Once, she nearly even slipped all the way out, and wavered there
at the edge, to see if her lover would push her out, if he would reject her. It was a perilous moment.

But then his tongue peeked out from his mouth, beckoning her back, and Fleur sighed with content
as she started moving forward. It was sweet torture, how slow they were about it, and it went
against her very nature, but she did care for the boy a great deal and he was so accepting of her.
Perhaps later, she would muse on these reasonings, but now...

Now was the time for action and not useless ponderings.

She'd let go of his hair; no longer was it needed to keep him in place, to keep him from shying
away from her offering to him.

Her pace slowly started to increase. She clenched her eyes shut for a moment, bit her lower lip and
made herself bleed, fervently trying to hold herself back from achieving release too soon, knowing
it was an exercise in futility. After all, she had not done anything like this for quite a while, having
forced that part of her to lay dormant until the right moment.

And the right moment just happened to be now.

She felt herself tense up and forced her eyes open, not wanting to miss out on a most beautiful
sight.

Propelling herself further forward, Fleur stuffed Harry's mouth full and moaned at the sound of his
gagging as he tried his best to expel her from his throat, even though it was an impossibility at this
point. To divert his mind from discomfort she scratched at his scalp again with her long talons,
even as she felt the quiver, the tensing and the release in her lower regions.

It happened so suddenly and it was not, by any means, gentle.

Her slit throbbed, then it expanded and out it came in one great, continuous, eruption.

Her lover's nose pressed against her crotch as she shrieked in pleasure, her thick batter flooding his
mouth, forced down his throat, forcing him to gulp it down lest he choke on the sheer volume of it.
Three months of pent up desire, that's how much Fleur had to account for. With inhuman noises
from her throat, she bid him swallow it all, as she pushed his head further into the pillow beneath it.
Fleur wasn't satisfied until her cum-swollen sack pressed against his chin and he made desperate
noises as he tried to breathe and swallow her creamy deposit at the same time. Just when it seemed
he might blackout from the intrusion in his mouth and the forced feeding, Fleur relented and pulled
away, groaning.

What a sight the two of them were: Harry, bound and blind, his face flush-red and the corner of his
mouth flecked with cum, whereas Fleur sat on his chest lacking any color to her at all save the
natural milky-pale complexion where human skin could be seen and the silvery color of the many
feathers that adorned her body, with her head thrown back and a grin on her face.

She pulled her head up and looked down at her lover, her jet black eyes staring at him with
affection and fondness.

It was time.

Carefully, she removed herself from Harry's chest, so as to not injure him with her clawed feet, and
laid next to him. For a moment, she felt tempted to let him lean his face towards her breasts, to give
him comfort in the midst of all the strangeness he had experienced but doing so might have wiped
away evidence of what they'd already done so far, and she certainly had no wish to do so. With one
arm outstretched, she reached out towards her wand and unglued it from the bed curtains. It
required a bit of effort on her part to handle the delicate wand-wood gracefully enough as she
lowered it down to his eyes.

Swiftly, she tapped him once across each eyelid as he blinked and his eyesight was restored.

No more than a few moments later, Harry turned his head her way. Her talons were already
outstretched and intent on caressing his cheeks, but he flinched at the sight of them, those cruel and
malformed digits, ones that had already touched him before, but now the very sight of them
frightened him. Fleur compensated for his retreat and reached for his face again. He clenched his
eyes shut, but after a few moments of nothing but gentle caresses on her part, Harry opened his
eyes again and looked at her; what an oddity she must have been for him, who'd never before seen
her in this form.

His fists clenched, his arms flexed in their restraints.

She peered at him through her inhuman eyes, wondering what would happen next, what her lover
might do.

"Fleur," said Harry, "is that you?"

Was that fear or wonder in his voice or was she merely a fool for hoping for either?

She nodded in reply and softly trilled at him.

Silence reigned, save for the murmur of talons touching skin.

Silence until he said, "It is," in a voice filled with... awe? Then he shook his head and his eyes
moved beyond her face, taking in her form as a whole. Those green eyes of his roamed all over her
body until they finally lowered themselves and stopped. He'd started to breathe louder, quicker too.
His gaze refused to move away. She could see it, question after question fleeting through his mind.
His words, when they finally surfaced, were blunt. "You have a cock." Carelessly thrown out.
"And balls." His eyebrows rose in confusion. "You have a —" he repeated to himself, hysterically.

And there it was, the truth. One she was not ashamed of, nor would she ever be, even if he ended
up spurning her.

His eyes rose back up to her face, hastily, in search of words that could never come from the
thinned lips that her transformation had turned them into, yet still he looked at her, imploring for
some, any, kind of answers, some reassurance...

But all she had to offer was herself: pure, sans words and thus sans any possible well-meant lie or
compassionate deceit.

Fleur pressed her mouth against his, taking in the salt of his spilled blood and the sweetness of her
spilled seed.

Harry, she called out to him in her mind. Harry, Harry, Harry... a hundred or a thousand times...
until she lost count.

Until he started kissing back, arching up towards her, as much as the ropes allowed him.

She took him in, her arms folded around him, her hand on the back of his head, pressing him
further into the kiss. Her scalding tongue slowly entangled itself with Harry's, and he no longer
tried to resist the heat that she gave to him so wantonly.

How long they remained in their affectionate embrace, neither could tell, but then again neither
cared.

When they separated for air, Harry started laughing and buried his face between her feather-clad
breasts. That did not stop Fleur from expressing her desire for him, as she continued to kiss him
wherever possible, while pressing herself further against him, until her cock was rubbing against
his. It certainly helped catch her lover's attention, whose mouth had found her breasts and whose
tongue had started brushing against her stiff nipples. She denied him nothing, of course, and took
full advantage in return. While his mouth was otherwise singularly occupied, hers was not, and
she'd left a trail of blistering heat across his skin with it, as her hands roamed all of his body,
provoking responses he may have never thought to give to anyone.

Oh how delightfully he screamed into her breasts when she dug her talons into his back. The pain
from his teeth latching onto her nipple was particularly exquisite, and Fleur hummed from the
sensation, while warm blood trickled down his back.

But Fleur could be distracted only so much and soon her hands had reached low, leaving angry
marks across the pale, tight flesh, as she squeezed down on her lover's lovely rear. She didn't
bother concealing her want from him, since she'd already left quite a bit of a smear on his stomach,
and so she pressed herself further against him - leaking liquid lust anew - while she kneaded and
spread his lower cheeks apart, salivating at the thought of properly taking him as hers.

Harry had to have realized what Fleur craved for in that moment, for his less than tender loving of
her breasts had ceased abruptly and the only thing she could feel from him was his breathing, small
gusts of warmth expelled from his mouth. Her tongue tickled at his earlobe before Fleur took to
crooning in his ear, her hands never stopping their caresses. One of her talons ghosted above his
hole, as she dared not touch him for fear of truly harming him; her way of letting him know he had
a choice.

It might as well have been an eternity, for all that Fleur knew, while she waited for a reaction.

And then it came, that wonderful little gesture, just barely there, just a hesitant affirmation.

Another might have been noble, given him more time, given him true freedom, but that was not her
way.

It was a screeching noise that came from her throat, the closest she could ever come to a laugh in
this twisted form of hers.

The black void of her eyes burned, though none could ever tell. It burned with want and need and
desire.

Fleur took her wand yet again and swept it across Harry, dispelling the bonds that held him
captive.

In that first moment of freedom, she wondered what he would do. Rub his wrists and check himself
for ligature marks? Rise from the bed and depart from her side, scorn in his thoughts? Ask her yet
more questions which plagued him or — Ah.

A kiss. So simple. So telling.

He was hard against her and he strove to conquer that which was unassailable. Fleur allowed him
this momentary delusion, such as it was, until she grew tired of it and cast him off herself, down on
his back - where he belonged - and beneath her. Still he looked at her, face wrought with defiance,
eyes filled with madness of wrath and arousal. Still his hands reached for her as he embraced her
and brought her down to him. Fleur made obscene sounds as she frotted against him and her teeth
wounded his mouth and tongue, minor nips that she dabbed at with her tongue and singed them
close.

Her long hair fell down around both of their faces - shielding and stealing him away from the world
for her own wicked purpose - as she kissed him again and again, claiming him innumerable times
in ways no other ever could. With one hand she took him by the wrists and pinned his hands above
him and for every time he flinched or thought to defy her, she bit him harshly.

He had to learn, the poor boy, and she was all too glad to educate him.

Not for the first time since she'd started this tumble in his bed, she wished for her human vocal
chords, so that she could convey to him her instructions, succinctly and clearly, leaving him no
room for misinterpretation or ignorance.

Submit, she would purr. Suck, she would command. Spread, she would compel.

But as she lacked those, she could only use her body instead. So her other hand roamed yet again:
down, down from the blackness of his hair, to the sleek marble of his neck, across his freshly
smoothed chest and down between his legs.

Other ways could have been more convenient for them, no doubt; Harry could have lied on his
stomach and she could've marveled at his finely sculpted derrière; he could have placed himself on
his side and molded back into Fleur's contours as she gently pushed into him from behind;
ultimately, none of those positions suited her intent.

Her lips left blaze-marks wherever they landed, while her hand, with its inhuman digits, toyed with
his cock, just enough to turn it hard against her own. When she did, she pressed down on him, hers
dwarfing his in size. And she absolutely loved that, that she was bigger and thicker, and that her
passion would rarely, if ever, waver. Anger bloomed in his eyes, trickles of humiliation peppered
throughout the green irises. Her motions were slow and deliberate as she ground herself against
him.

His kiss stung when he bit down on her lip and made her bleed, but he still parted his legs, just by a
little.

Quickly, she moved her hand away from his crotch and took up her wand again, a sticking charm
binding his hands to the headboard above them. He'd almost lunged at her for that, but restrained
himself in the last moment. Submission, yes, but not quite all the way, was it? No matter, Fleur
was delighted by him, all of him, all of his gestures, all of his hate and want. Her face sported a
grin as she dragged the tip of her wand across his body, pointlessly slow, even though they both
knew what she'd do with it.

"Sweet Merlin," he'd gasped out when the cool sensation struck his insides. He closed his eyes.
When he opened them again, they overflowed with lust and hatred; venomous green pools of
passion. "Is that it then, Fleur? Is this all you wanted?"

His defiance aroused her. It always had. From the first moment that they met each other's eyes.

Fleur let out a half-shriek at him and nipped him savagely on the mouth, giving him another
wound to worry about.

"Is that it?" asked Harry tauntingly, grinning with blood dripping down on his chin. "All you got?"

Her nostrils flared and she'd almost forgot to use one last spell.

She tapped herself twice on the head of her cock and shivered at the feeling. With her hands, she
stroked Harry's thighs before pushing them outward, parting them in the process. But he still defied
her and the moment she thought to press herself onward, he clamped his legs around her waist and
pulled himself close to her — too close.

Did he think himself that clever, to try and outsmart her? Foolish boy.

Fleur saw that her smile - certainly not a response he expected - made him feel at unease. She
cocked her head to the side and grinned more widely as she set her hand to motion. Her intent was
plain and simple: to drive him mad. Unease dissipated from his face completely when she reached
his cock and lust replaced it when she started stroking the rigid length.

She saw him try and fight his own body, watched as he failed miserably, laughed inwardly as his
crotch arched upwards.

It was not long before she had him where she wanted him: tears in his eyes, words half-formed and
choked down, his body stained with the treason of his many releases. One after another, she took
them from him. One after another, until...

"Please, Fleur, enough!" cried out her young lover.

She brought her face down to his own, kissed him gently, sweetly, on his lips and cooed at him. He
nodded, still crying.

His hold on her slackened and turned limp in defeat. His head turned to the side, facing away from
her.

Fleur brought his face forward, emeralds pitifully staring up into the pitch blackness. She kissed
him again.

No shame, Harry. Never be ashamed. Not with me, not now nor ever.

Mercifully, she avoided his crotch, his cock rubbed out raw and sore for anyone's touch, let alone
her harsh ones. Her talons glided up and down his face, leaving faint red marks across his cheeks.
She sighed with content when he leaned into them.

It wasn't like his first time with her, for brutally slamming herself inside him would avail her
nothing but his pain and that she could acquire by other ways and means, if need be. No, pain was
not the end-goal here. Pleasure was.

That familiar tingle of excitement, the flutter of butterfly wings in her stomach, coursed through her
whole being as she lowered herself between Harry's legs. A glance that she cast earlier towards her
crotch assured her that the lubrication spell still held, and that her member would cause little to no
pain upon entry, no matter its size.

He tensed up when the purple head of her cock, throbbing and leaking, touched against his pink
rosebud. She could hardly hold it against him, for save for her fingers and the occasional toy or
two, he'd never had anything like her inside him. Cooing at him seemed to help, as did her soothing
caresses. Slowly, he unclenched, his legs no longer bunched up muscles, though his breathing
came a bit too loud. It was a precocious moment. It was... divine.

That first moment, that first push, when she felt him give into her... this she would savour for years
to come.

The warmth. The tightness. Bliss everlasting. So much better than what she only imagined before.
So tight!

Harry inhaled sharply and involuntarily tightened himself around the head of her cock, causing
Fleur to trill.

"Fuck!" moaned Harry as she went deeper.

Little by little she moved forward, gyrating herself within. Little by little, until she was sheathed
fully inside him.

I wish you could see how beautiful you are, my beloved.

And he was beautiful, with her cock buried between his firm buttocks. His legs trembled... with
anticipation?

Fleur started moving, very slowly at first, though it didn't take her long until she'd found with her
cock what she'd already found, months before, with her fingers. His wanton moan, the flush of red
up to his ears, his cock's sudden throb, told her she'd reached it. With a cocky grin on her face,
Fleur increased her pace, little by little. His legs she held apart with her hands, bucking into him
with slowly increasing fervor, always intent on stimulating his prostate further, forcing his own
cock to continue pouring out precious seed all over him and her. More than once, his cock would
suddenly spurt out a string of cum, one of which had even landed on her feathered breasts. But that
was, after all, what she desired to see most: Harry absent all reason, lost to pure lust, lost in lust to
her cock pounding him, until his words echoed his body's pleas.

"Fu—" he started to say, but then bit himself on the mouth. Fleur knew very well what he wished
to say. His denial infuriated her and spurned her on to slam herself harder into him, to mercilessly
fuck his ass until his hold on his mouth loosened enough and he begged her for it, begged to be
fucked, begged for her cock.

He tried it all, the poor boy; he shook his head violently, as though that would dislodge the pleasure
ravaging him from within; he tried trashing about, but his spell-bound hands on the headboard
above prevented him from escaping Fleur. Finally...

"Oh fuck!" he'd shouted. "Fuck," he whimpered, "fuck me, Fleur!" He pleaded with teary eyes.
"Please!"

Against all his expectations, Fleur stopped, her cock halfway in, halfway out. She smiled, smugly.
If Harry wanted her to fuck him, well... no need for her to do all the work herself.

Without the aid of her wand it was significantly harder to remove the charm that bound him, but
not impossible. Almost instantly he lunged up at her, his whole body clung to hers as he fell down
into her lap, sinking fully onto her cock.

He hid his face in the crook of her neck, muffling his cries of pleasure when Fleur spread his
cheeks apart, squeezing, before she brought him up and left him on his own to fall back down. And
like a fallen angel, from one of those mugle religious sermons, he fell with the greatest of zeal,
hellfire scorching every inch of his skin.

There it was, that which Fleur had sought out from the very start.

There, the madness, the passion... unbridled and indistinguishable from one another... as he rose
and fell in her lap, his face bared to her as he cried out her name for all to hear (even though he
wasn't aware they couldn't) and his pleas for more.

Always more, always harder, always faster — he begged of her. This was him, stripped of
everything but the basest urges.

Fleur did her part and for every time he bounced on her cock, she rammed back inside him
ferociously. Her cock slammed in and out, her balls slapped against his lovely little arse every time
she fully sunk inside and it drove her over the edge.

She only wished for a better view, to see his hole stretched around her big, thick cock, see his hole
stretched as it embraced her rod of hard meat, and she could have happily spent the rest of her days
there, pumping him full of her cum.

It all proved too much for Fleur, as she knew it would, and she'd lasted not one moment longer. She
grabbed Harry by the waist and plunged him all the way down - provoking another slutty groan
from him - until he sat on her churning balls as they spat out their heavy load and started coating
his insides white. It was heavenly and she loved the way her cock shook, depositing one rope of
cum after another inside his ass, while the hole around it tightened as much as possible.

Her only regret was that this was not her first, and thus biggest, load that she'd given him today; his
mouth had that honor.

Harry leaned his head across her shoulder, breathing heavily, with his arms hanging limp around
her. Fleur stroked his back lovingly, humming with praise, her cock still so very much hard inside
him. Every now and again Harry would wince, as she came across a few of the open wounds she'd
given him, but he didn't pull away and that endeared him to her even more.

When his face moved away from her neck, she briefly wondered what his reason for it might be.

When he kissed her, she thought that was all he intended, but he surprised her.

Harry's eyes looked at her for a while, half-lidded as they were, a weary smile on his face.

"I love you," he simply said. "I love you," he said again and started rising from her lap. Globs of
cum trickled down as her cock slipped out of him. He looked at her, eyes wide open. "I love you,
Fleur," he said, smiling. His thumb brushed across her lips before he kissed them again. And then
he lowered himself down on her cock, wincing as she stretched him again.

"I love you, I love you, I love you..."

It had started out as a declaration and it became a chant.

A prayer.

It was worship.

All was well with the world.

Only hours and hours later, Fleur had been sated. Parts of what they'd done could be considered
love-making, for it certainly held a sort of gentleness about it, affection woven through every
action, love embedded deep into every touch shared.

Other parts... to call them vicious would be a kindness. Mutual assaults, where they both struggled
with each other, crudely, and sought to inflict the maximum amount of pain and pleasure on one
another. At one point, Harry had managed to push her down on her back, his palms firmly wrapped
around her breasts while his fingers tweaked her hardened nipples.

He rode her cock hard, staining her with his cum, and every time she sought to throw him off he'd
grab one of her nipples and twist it between his fingers. Fleur's screams nearly shattered the few
measly barriers she had set earlier in place and the few that passed through and near the fourth-
year boys' dormitory felt something like a shiver run down the back of their spines, never knowing
that their subconscious minds were responding to the primal cry of a Veela in the midst of a rut,
never knowing that they were one step shy from death if they'd managed to find the source of the
scream and interfered in any way.

In return, Fleur had twisted him around and had his face buried in the pillow, just like she had her
cock buried in him. She crowed her dominance over him, pummeling and pounding him hard,
enjoying the squelching sounds made when her cock slammed inside his cum-soaked ass. Fleur
made it a point to ejaculate only inside him, though her approach had differed on how she would
do it every time. Once, she'd just barely taken her cock out of him in the last moment but kept it
near his hole, kept it spread open as she lathered both the inside and the outside of it with
splattering of her milky-white cream.

They bit at each other, left scars and wounds that neither spell nor poultices could mend or heal,
only time.

To put it quite simply, they went mad.

At last, Fleur had allowed him to rest on the bed without her cock in one of his orifices. Copious
amounts of her cum had leaked out of him and onto the bed, but she was not the sole culprit for its
ruined state, as Harry himself had spilled quite a bit of his own baby-batter as well, though not
nearly as much as Fleur herself. Even in that, she had him beat.

Reverting to her human form was easier than the initial transformation and though she knew that
Harry was tired, he still kept a close eye on her as the feathers retreated and vanished beneath her
skin, the blackness in her eyes slowly dissipated and made the blue in her irises seem exceptionally
bright, and finally as her cock and balls slowly shrunk into her crotch and clit.

"Mmm, enjoyed yourself, 'ave you?" asked Fleur with a raspy voice, smiling, as she scooted near
him on the bed.

"Smug bitch," he teased back, tiredly. He came closer and kissed her. "Of course I did. Was there
any chance I wouldn't?"
"Of course not," she replied smugly, lazily wetting her lips. "You were a delightful, if starved,
boy." She stroked his cum-filled belly, the small paunch that remained even now. "I fed you well, I
hope?" His cock twitched at her words and touch.

Fleur's laughter rang melodiously as he assaulted her anew in vain. His manhood was spent, as both
of them very well knew.

When they parted from their amorous embrace, Fleur took her chance to look at him, this boy
whom she'd taken to her bed and into her heart. His looks would never be considered
conventionally or classically handsome. Parts of him were wiry-thin, too sharp, too angled, but to
Fleur none of that mattered. While he would never be someone that simply blended in the
background with his appearance, standing out wouldn't be his forte either. Out of all his features,
his eyes and his hair marked him the most, more than that faded scar on his forehead or the one on
his arm, from the Basilisk's fang, ever could.

She knew his past, better than most, for he'd confided a great deal in her in the past month. Even
when he chose to avoid to speak of something, he'd confided in her, unwittingly, and she'd wormed
her way into his heart all the same. Fleur knew, with absolute certainty, there wasn't a living soul
who knew more of Harry Potter than she did. He was a sweet boy, a dear boy, who craved
acceptance, but not to his own detriment. Affection was something he craved for too, more than
acceptance, but that was only to be given by her and no other. Some of his moral codes were...
inconvenient, but not unbendable. Certainly, with the proper influence, he would yield to her. Harry
had wanted friends, first and foremost, and had found a few. Then that silly muggleborn girl had
attacked him for his choice in lovers, never knowing victory would be forever out of her reach.

In truth, that was one thing that she liked best about him: that he chose her before her friend, that
he'd cast away years of friendship and refused to see reason solely because Fleur was the mark of
the failed assault. Harry was a loyal and staunchly devouted person to those few whom he
considered close to him, and right now Fleur was the closest anyone could be.

Fleur never believed in deities of any sorts, but thanked the gods all the same that she had met
Harry Potter.

Absently, she realized that she'd been far too quiet during her introspection, and so Fleur took to
carding her fingers through Harry's messy hair, giggling lightly when he sighed contentedly at her
touch. Gods, she was mad about the boy.

He shifted in bed and entangled one of his legs with hers; absent the sexual element, Fleur knew he
sought comfort and closeness. But for what purpose? What niggled in that broody head of his? She
watched him carefully as his lips twitched, words not yet formed dying on his tongue. It was only
her familiarity with him that clued her into what his mind might be going through, what turbulent
thoughts sought to wrestle him away from this little nest of happiness that they'd made.

"Silly leetle boy," Fleur whispered to him and watched his eyes brighten when she said, "I love
you."

It was nothing more, nothing less than the truth itself. That was all it took for his whole face to
light up with joy.

I was bound to love you since the first time I saw you, she wanted to confess to him. I schemed, I
planned and I waited so patiently for my chance, and then you surprised me, when you approached
me first instead. So bold... do you remember?

None of these thoughts did she confide in him, and so they refused to dissipate. Perhaps he saw
something in her eyes, a small portion of her true thoughts escaping her unwittingly, or perhaps it
was a stroke of good luck on his behalf.

I wanted to fuck you since that first time. To have you on your back, with legs spread. She buried
her face in his neck and inhaled deeply. I wanted to hear you moan, hear you beg. Her fingers
trailed across his mouth, while hers kissed his skin. I wanted these wrapped around my cock, with
you staring up at me. I wanted you to love me.

"I love you," the words came, low and sure. "All of you."

"I know," Fleur nodded. She pulled away and kissed him. "I know. Still, you are curious, are you
not?"

"Hard not to be. Is it... is it something to do with being a Veela or just you?"

"Yes," answered Fleur with a grin. He seemed unsatisfied with the answer, so she asked, "Does it
matter? Truly?"

He pondered it for a while before he shook his head. "I suppose it doesn't, it's just that it was, well,
surprising."

She arced one of her immaculately shaped eyebrows in mock confusion. "Surprising, you say?"
Then her lips curved into a small smile. "Well, at least you liked it. But what about ze next time,
mon cher? Now zat it's no longer a secret..."

"The next time?" asked Harry hesitantly.

"Oui, ze next time. Or did you zink zat I only wished to fuck you once, zat once would be enough
for me?"

He gave her no words in reply, just his mouth against hers, just his arms pulling her closer in. His
limp cock failed to wake, but that wasn't the issue here. She grabbed him by his hair and yanked
his head back. When he hissed from the pain, she dived towards his neck, already littered with
love-bites, and marked it yet again. His fingers wove themselves through her hair and he pushed
her further towards him. Her tongue, her teeth; that, she knew he loved.

After she was done giving him a few new marks of hers to bear with pride, after her hands had slid
down his back and started squeezing his ass, she'd said, "Tell me you loved it. All of it, 'arry. My
cock in your derrière, my cum inside you. All of it!"

His throat trembled, his Adam's apple bobbed, but when he spoke, his words came out clean,
certain. "I did. All of it."

Fleur pulled him by the hair again and made him face her, teeth bared. "Say it! Say you loved my
cock, zat you want it again!"

His eyes were full of mischief. "And what if I say I don't want it again, Fleur? Will you force me?
Like you did this time?"

For his impertinence, she slapped him. "Liar. Who was it zat leapt so eagerly at me? Who was it
zat moaned like a whore while bouncing on my cock? Who was it zat begged me for more?" Fleur
sought out his mouth, and assaulted it, conquering it again and again, just as she'd done with the
rest of him. "Must we play zis game again where you deny, and I prove you wrong?"

"And what if that's the price I ask of you? For our every time to be as if it was the first?"
Fleur didn't mull it over and knew he'd only thought to tease her, thought to please her. "Zen I shall
take your little bargain, such as it was offered, and you, I zink, will come to regret zose careless
words of yours, mon cher. I won't be gentle."

"Liar," he called her, a smile on his face. "You'll be gentle, at least at first, just like you were
today."

"But is zat what you love best about me, 'arry? When I am gentle? Or when I take you from behind
and bite you, when I toss you around and make you gag on my cock, make you lap up my cum,
like ze good boy zat you are? Which is it?"

She needed to know.

And he didn't disappoint.

"All of it, Fleur. All of you."

She had no wish to part from him, not when he'd been so good to her, so loving and bold. Staying
in bed with him, amidst the stench of their ardor and ruined sheets, with Harry so playful and
wanton for her touch... was that too much to ask?

Like the spoiled girl that she was, she tried to wind again her favorite toy, but no matter what she
did, his cock did not stir. He'd chuckled at her for the effort wasted and she pouted in return. But
his lack of an erection didn't make things easier for Harry.

When Fleur finally did robe herself, she unsealed the bed-curtains and took a peek outside. Having
found no one in the room, she called out to Harry, to come out and gather some of his spare clothes
from the trunk at the foot of his bed. She took great pleasure in seeing her naked lover, flesh
scarred and marred, tip toe his way around her carefully (not quite so limber after the pounding she
gave him). She squeezed his bum when he bent over and started rummaging for robes and
underwear.

"Fleur," Harry reprimanded her, still bent low, "not now."

She feigned distress. "Zen why do you tempt me so, mon cher?"

"If someone hadn't vanished all of my clothes and had instead only undressed me, there'd be no
temptation."

Fleur scooted behind him, wrapped her arms around his naked torso and pressed her groin against
his bare behind. "But I enjoy being tempted by leetle boys, 'arry. Especially when said leetle boy
is you." Her hand fondled his flaccid member.

He muttered rebelliously, "Yes, well, pardon me if we can't all be as big as you. I still have some
years to grow."

Fleur laughed at that. "Oui, you will grow. But as to whezzer you will best me in size... we'll 'ave
to wait and see."

Any further banter between them had been stopped dead in its tracks when the dormitory's doors
opened.

Without a second thought, Harry jumped forward, barely slipping out of her hold, barely managing
to pull the curtains close and hide his nudity. Fleur laughed, the sound muffled behind her hand.
Then she kneeled down by the opened trunk and started scooping up the clothes that Harry needed,
left behind as they were in his haste to escape his dormmates' notice.

Beind her, she heard footsteps. Then they stopped, and a mumbled exchange followed.

"Oi, what's she doing here?"

"I reckon we'll find out, but until we do, I can't say I mind the view. Do you?"

"Hah. Don't think she'll take too kindly at us gawking at her though."

"Bird as fit as her? Doubt it would come as a surprise."

Crude and uninspiring. No more than Fleur expected of them, but it still rankled. She should have
been harsher in her rejections of their proposals, should have put them down like the insignificant
specks that they were, and not feigned civility.

When she rose, Harry's clothes in her hands, and turned to face them, the two boys balked and
stepped back. Under her withering gaze, they fidgeted, yet they still dared to lust after her. Fleur
looked down her nose at them.

Pathetic.

Without a single word imparted to either one, Fleur turned her back on them, moved past the
curtains surrounding Harry's bed and closed them behind her. As he dressed, she teased him;
fondled his buttocks, kissed his neck and mouth, whispered filthy things into his ear with a breathy
voice. They didn't come out until Harry was fully dressed and by her side, an arm encircling her
waist, just as hers lingered on his back, her sharp nails scratching the bare skin beneath the black
robes.

They looked quite the pair, the two of them.

Fleur with her fair hair, loosely falling around her shoulders, lips still swollen from the last kiss
they shared. Beneath her robes, she wore no undergarments, so her nipples pressed against the
cloth, exposing her arousal with their stiffness.

And Harry. Her sweet boy. Hair as dark as her love for him, his body marked by it. Eyes fierce in
their unyielding, green stare.

The Irish boy and his dark-skinned friend looked away. She could taste their fear overpowering the
lust.

"Come now, 'arry," said Fleur, "I would see more of your 'ogwarts, and you've so much more to
show me."

For all that the two of them together had become somewhat of a regular sight to students of
Hogwarts, their departure from the boys dorms was taken note of by all the Gryffindors lounging in
their common room. Among the many, she spotted a pair of brown eyes, filled with a myriad of
emotions, all of which amused her to no end.

Harry didn't understand why she laughed when the Fat Lady's portrait closed behind them, but he
would one day, soon.

The day before the Second Task proved most interesting.

Harry and Fleur had agreed beforehand to spend it separate, lest they expend too much energy on
each other (or rather, Fleur drain Harry of all his) and for both of them it had proved a challenge.
Even the simple exchange of kisses and greetings during the daily meals at Hogwarts, the
occasional glimpse of one another amidst the library's racks, would draw the midnight-blue to
emerald-green and linger for far longer than any could have expected. It was longing, pure and
simple. It was love, at its peak.

Some time after she'd spotted Harry leaving the library, shooting her a farewell glance before
vanishing from sight, Fleur had an encounter. An unusual one, at that, for at first she wasn't even
aware of her watcher. Only a tingle on her brow, an itch that no finger could scratch, made her
realize it. A spell was clashing against her own brand of magic, the aural Allure which always hung
about her in the air. Fleur's sharp eyes searched for any distortion of the air, any place where her
gaze might have slid off too quickly for it to be natural. When she did find a flaw in the spell cast
and maintained, Fleur seized her chance.

Without betraying her intent she turned aside, her wand slipping between fingers as she twirled it
but twice; once to dampen any sound in the area and once to undo the spell that hid her mysterious
observer. Such was Fleur's speed in silent casting that the intruder stood no chance on deflecting or
escaping the spells cast at them.

When they thought to turn their wand on Fleur, she was quick enough to dispel them of that silly
little notion as well. The other wand flew across the table that separated them and slid into Fleur's
other, waiting hand. It was a crude looking thing, especially when compared to her own beautifully
shaped rosewood, with its impeccable condition and superb handling.

Disarmed and caught unaware, the intruder looked torn between the decision to bolt or stay and try
to fight.

Naturally, Fleur took advantage of that momentary indecision as well and promptly cast a
petrifying spell.

It wasn't really a surprise who the intruder was; frankly, she'd expected them much, much sooner.

She looked around first, for a minute or so, to see if there were any students passing nearby who
might interrupt her, but she'd chosen a rather distant part of the library, rarely frequented, if the
layers of dust on the floor were anything to go by.

None came, none passed anywhere near them. Fleur smiled and the cruelty of it did little to negate
her beauty.

"What to do wiz you now, I wonder?" she murmured in the quiet enclosure of texts and shelves that
surrounded them. Fleur circled the helpless prey, eyes gliding up and down, taking stock. Then she
came near. "Perhaps you are wondering why I 'ave not asked any questions? I 'ave no need to. I
know why you are 'ere."

If they were not under the petrifying spell's effects, eyes might have widened, breathing might have
sped up.

As it was, nothing changed on the surface, but beneath the skin, Fleur could taste fear.

"Oh yes, you zought yourself so clever, zought yourself beneez notice. But one look told me
everyzzing. One look, zat's all it took. Tell me, 'ermione Granger, 'ow does it feel to see somezzing
you crave for in secret taken by anuzzer, in plain sight? Do you cry yourself to sleep? Or do you
pull up your robes and pull down your underwear, before filling your hole wiz a bit of magic?
Come now," Fleur grinned, "I won't tell, you 'ave my word on it. Ah, silly me! You cannot speak!
We cannot have zat, non."

With a flick from Fleur's wand, she remained frozen in all else save her head and speech was
granted back.

"Why?" she asked with teary eyes. "Why are you doing this?"

Fleur's smile held no kindness for the Gryffindor witch before her. "Doing what? We are simply
talking, nuzzing more."

Hermione blinked, her tears remained unshed, and deep-seated anger showed its face. "Harry will
find out what you're really like. You can't keep lying to him forever, he'll see through you an—"

The laughter, which would have echoed throughout the whole library were it not for the sound
dampening spell in place, had stopped Hermione from speaking any further. By the time she was
done, Fleur had almost wept tears of merriment.

She wiped non-existent tears from the corners of her eyes, a wide grin barely held back from
splitting her face.

"Zank you for zat, I don't believe I've laughed as much in a long, long time." And then suddenly,
all pretense of amusement had fled from Fleur's countenance. "My lover will find out what I'm
really like, you say?" she whispered, almost afraid. "See past my lies, see me for what I truly am?"
But the hint of fear was a lie too, and a smile full of sharp teeth came to be in its place. "It is only
proper for us to know each ozzer intimately well. Being lovers for quite some time, we've come to
know so much."

Fleur leaned forward, towering over the muggleborn. "I've seen 'arry come undone so many times
in my bed. I've seen my lover brought down to his knees wiz lust and love in equal measure. I've
'eard my beloved beg, beg for me, beg for all zat I can give, and I 'ave given all I 'ad to offer. Do
you zink he turned away? Do you zink I denied him a place beside me?" She shook her head, a
gentle smile curving her lips, surging thoughts of Harry bringing waves of affection for the dark-
haired boy. "No more zan 'arry denied me, and zat 'as yet to happen, 'ermione Granger. Even now,
I ache for 'im, a whole left incomplete wizzout my lover." Fleur inhaled deeply. "I can still smell
'im, strong and unwavering. I can still feel eem, bruising my 'ips."

"But you, you will never know any of zat. Never know what it is to take someone who willingly
gives 'imself to you, never be taken yourself." Fleur took up one of the less bushier parts of her hair
sticking out and idly played with it. "It took a lot to tame zis mess, didn't it, for ze Yule Ball? A
shame it was wasted. Never noticed, never appreciated. Did your cœur ache at ze sight of us,
twirling on ze dance floor, in each ozzer's arms? Did your ire rise when ze only time you were
addressed, it was to shame you? Or did you cry and blubber into your pillow, like the pitiful leetle
girl zat you are? Did you whimper and ask pourquoi?"

"Stop it, stop," she pleaded, tears flowing freely.

Ever closer, Fleur came towards Hermione Granger and tilted her face up, her lips scarcely a breath
away from a kiss.

Sad, brown eyes looked imploringly at her, but her merciless blue returned nothing but contempt
and cruelty.

"Even now, you cannot 'ave what you long for, nor will you, ever. You never even stood a
chance."

Beneath her heel laid the heart of Hermione Granger.

"You are beneez me," came the final blow, "and one such as you would never be any lover of
mine."

A kiss was almost given, but then she pulled away and laughed and laughed and laughed as the
Gryffindor witch cried.

Beneath Fleur's heel remained nothing but a bleeding ruin.

Later, that same day, Fleur had been in the dungeons, checking on the Polyjuice that Amy had left
brewing down there. Though the carriage accommodated many of the students' needs, brewing
spaces were not accounted for in its creation. Instead they used the ones Hogwarts had, under the
premise of brewing NEWT level potions for their final exams back home in France.

She'd finished checking the mixture's color, density and potency, and had barely just left the room
when the spell struck her.

Her whole body turned rigid and still. Only when the voice commanded it did she move. One step
at a time, she moved deeper into the dungeons of Hogwarts, almost mindlessly following the given
instructions. Fleur came to a halt only when the voice bid her do so, and she waited while the
voice's owner fiddled with some door near them.

After she was told to get in, the voice blurted out several spells, all aimed at the door.

With the only exit in the room shut safely behind him, Draco Malfoy turned around, his face
sporting an ugly, sneering smile.

He watched her, licking his lips at the sight of her beauty and what it must look like when bared
completely nude.

"Took a while, but here we are, half-breed. Potter not around to keep you safe? I was surprised, but
who am I to question my good fortune? Mind," he grinned, "I'll be sure to thank him properly later
for lending you out to me."

Fleur said nothing, only continued to stare vacantly into nothingness.

"Got you good, I bet you didn't expect someone here capable of casting an Unforgivable." Pride
was replaced with wistfulness promptly. "I'd rather have not gone this way at all, you'll just be a
limp doll beneath me, but once I have you this time, and ruin you for good, that ought to be enough
for you to come crawling back. After all, I doubt Potter could measure with this," he grabbed his
crotch, a prominent, large bulge obvious in his robes. "Now, strip, you whore."

Her robes were easily shed and they soon laid crumpled on the floor, while Fleur stood naked,
emotionless.

Leering at her nudity, Draco Malfoy stroked himself through his clothes for a few moments, before
his hand disappeared beneath and liberated his member from the confines of his robes. It was too
large for his small frame, with a length of no less than nine inches, while flaccid, and a substantial
girth that would painfully stretch any orifice it was forced into. The hairless sack below matched it
in size, and it seemed as though it was churning with a huge, potent load as it tensed up.
It didn't take long until Malfoy's cock had gone fully erect, helped by his hand's pumping.

"I'm going to fuck you, half-breed. But first, I'm going to make you suck my cock and then I'm
going to stretch you until it hurts."

He stalked towards Fleur, a lax grip on his wand and giddy with anticipation, while his cock-slit
dripped with clear pre.

And he faltered for a moment when Fleur opened her mouth and said, "I doubt it would've 'urt as
much as zis will for you."

Panicking, he brought his wand up and started uttering the first curse to come to mind, but it was
too late.

Without having seen it beforehand, Fleur's hand held her own wand, previously concealed by a
simple Charm. With a flash of amusement in her eyes, and a grin on her lips, she banished Malfoy
right into the wall. Such was the force of the impact that she heard several of his ribs cracking and
his already loose hold on his wand broke, and it fell down on the floor.

Groaning in agony, curled down on the floor, he didn't notice Fleur coming near, didn't see her
taking his wand, didn't see the look of consideration as she pondered snapping it in half, but then
cast that thought aside as her mind was forming another more interesting path to pursue in
recompense for the assault on her person.

When he did look up at her, she was still standing in the nude; beautiful, glorious and terrifying as
only a Veela enraged could be.

At wand-point, Fleur interrogated him. He didn't wish to talk, not at first, but the merest glow from
the tip of her wand and the fool spilled his secrets, too easily. Had he held on to some of them,
perhaps the outcome would have been different for him.

"I've told you everything," he whined, yet still managed to insert a snobbish tone to his words.
"Call for help, like you promised. I think I'm bleeding internally and... and my vision isn't good
either, I'm seeing black spots. Quickly now!"

But Fleur only stood there and shook her head. "You're a fool, Draco Malfoy, twice over. For ze
crime of invading my privacy, telling on 'arry and myself, I should have flogged you, at ze very
least, but my lover convinced me ozzerwise, and so I left it in 'is 'ands to dole out your punishment.
You may not 'ave known it, you may not 'ave appreciated his efforts, but he protected you. Now?
Now, no one protects you, no one is 'ere to keep you safe from the nasty half-breed, ze same one
zat you lusted aft—"

"You won't get away with this," he spat out at her.

For his arrogance, he received a rebuke. While Fleur didn't dabble into any of the darker arts, nor
did she wish to leave any such glaring mark on the boy, there were other methods she could use.
She twisted her wand slowly as she choked him. In vain, Malfoy tried to reach out to her, then he
tried to grab at his throat, but nothing helped. Fleur only released him when he was on the edge of
losing consciousness and by then he'd nearly cried bloody tears. Gasping for breath, he did not
speak.

"Now, where was I? Ah, yes, your crimes. As if ze first crime wasn't more zan enough, you dared
to presume your feeble attempt at the Imperius curse would work on me. Wretch such as you are,
did you even bozzer looking into ze spell? You need willpower, boy, superior will to ze one zat
you would enslave and dominate. And yours is quite lacking." She wriggled her nose, looking
down at him. "As I suspect one ozzer zing is lacking as well."

He didn't flinch when she aimed her wand at him and undid the spell, for he barely had any breath
in his lungs, barely any energy for anything else but to rasp and gasp for more air, while lying on
the floor. The effects went unnoticed by him, but Fleur would not allow him to linger under the
delusion he'd had anything to impress her to begin with.

"See? We now see ze truzz of zings, and your manhood's not quite so large anymore now, is it?"

She suspected a potion at first, but any such potion would have been beyond the ken of any fourth-
year schoolboy, barring the odd prodigy or two that Hogwarts might have attending it. Whether he
used a simple Engorgio or a specific penile-enhancement spell mattered not in the least. When
returned to its natural state, his genitalia was nothing to be proud of.

If she guessed correctly, he was even smaller than Harry. Not by much, but still smaller. That
ought to have sat ill with him, if he ever compared himself to her lover.

"So, neizzer ze will, nor ze means to accomplish your plan. And what a poorly zought out plan it
was. Not telling anyone about it, because you did not wish to share? Not trusting anyone? You
were doomed to fail before even enacting the scheme. But let us say that you did somehow manage
to subdue me and 'ave your way wiz me: what zen, you inbred cretin? Do you zink I would stay
silent, zat I would not pursue revenge? Zere is nuzzing which could have shielded you from me,
nuzzing."

"Wh-," he wheezed out, "when my father hears —"

"When your fazzer next 'ears of you, it will be to inform 'im of your sudden departure from zis
world."

Draco Malfoy's complexion paled sickly white. "Y-you can't, you'll be caught!"

Fleur shrugged. "A possibility, certainly, but a distant one if ze job is properly done and I intend to
see it done well. Did you truly believe I would call for a professor to 'elp you, zat I would 'eal you?
Well, in part you were correct, I suppose." She didn't know many, but those healing spells that she
did sufficed for the minor harm she'd inflicted on him. "Zere, all better now. Not zat you will 'ave
ze time to enjoy it. Far too late for zat."

One last try, one last attempt at survival. "I can pay! I have Galleons, tens of thousands! All yours!
I'll swear a Vow!"

When Fleur lowered her wand, he thought that was it, he was saved. But nothing could've prepared
him for what came next.

Unseen forces were being prepared all along while Fleur talked to him, distracted him. Unseen
forces which now slammed fully against him and his pale grey eyes turned nearly completely white
before they returned to their natural color.

Fleur was coated in sweat by the time she was done. She'd battered everything in his mind, wiped
the slate clean of all independent thought. What Fleur did was enslavement. All Veelas had this
ability, from the dawn of their existence, their ultimate defense should everything else fail. Men
and women, turned into mindless slaves, always eager to do the Veela's bidding, no matter what it
may have been, no matter how destructive or self-harmful.

For a few moments, Fleur was content with just breathing. Then she cleaned herself with a spell,
 but later she would still shower herself in scalding water; nothing beat a real shower, no matter how
convenient magic might have been. Next, she dressed herself, buttoned up her robes, tidied up her
hair and straightened out any wrinkle in her clothes.

"When I leave zis room," she addressed Malfoy, "you will shut ze door, and transfigure it into a
wall, like ze ones surrounding it. You will make zis transfiguration perfect, so much zat no one
would ever be able to tell zere ever was a door 'ere in ze first place. After zat, you shall wait for
two 'ours, not a second less, and you shall proceed to bash your 'ead against the wall. You must do
zis quickly, before losing consciousness, and you will keep doing so until you fracture your skull
and die."

"Yesss," he slurred the word, completely oblivious of everything else but her words.

Just as she was to leave the room, she turned towards him. "Oh and tuck zat back in, no need for
more embarrassment."

I tried, Harry. You cannot say I didn't give him a chance.

Barely a foot away from the room and the door behind her vanished.

Barely two feet away and all thoughts of murder she'd just set in motion gone from her mind.

Only her lover had a place in her thoughts, and she wondered if she might manage to entice him to
one impromptu meeting before the Second Task after all. Her blood ran hot and his tongue was as
good as any other way to vent the heat.

End Notes

It's been a while since I originally posted this over on AFF and there it lies unfinished. But
it won't stay that for much longer, as I have finally finished wrapping up this story after
forcing myself through quite a bit of a writer's block. Here, I will post one chapter per
week, on Monday, until I've posted all the old stuff and then when I start posting the new
ones, they'll be uploaded over to AFF as well. Why I switched over to AO3? Well, it's far
easier to keep track of any fics that I happen to enjoy, AFF is sorely lacking in that regard.
That's all from me.

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