Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://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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