Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Voldemort's speech comes verbatim from Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire.
A/N: There are no Soul Bonds, Deus Ex Machina, or 'Mating' here. And yes, the falshbacks are supposed to be hard to tell apart from the present; it's from Harry's viewpoint, and he's not entirely 'with it' right now.
A/N 2: Warnings for Character Death and Teenage Romance.
The Death Eaters stood in a circle, surrounding Harry, Pettigrew and Voldemort in the Graveyard. The traitor was sobbing in the grass, blood leaking from his stump. Voldemort was talking to his followers, telling them all of how he had come back stronger and more powerful than ever. And Harry...
Harry was crying, tears falling from his eyes as they lay upon the cold beautiful body of Fleur Delacour.
"'ello again 'Arry. It is wonderful to see you again. I told you you'd see me here, did I not?"
"Yes you did. And forgive me for saying this, but I do hope you don't get chosen, even if I think you will. I don't fancy you going up against a Nundu or a Basilisk."
"Ah, but if that happens you'll just have to talk it down for me, won't you my snake charmer?"
"I think we all know you're the charmer here Fleur."
Voldemort was still speaking, punishing his Death Eaters for daring to leave him. "You ask for forgiveness? I do not forgive, I do not forget. Thirteen long years.. I want thirteen years' repayment before I forgive you."
They were kissing, and those lips were like dreams to Harry. She pushed him over, lying on top of him, pressing him against the ground. She pressed his arms down beside him, trapping him between the heat of her body and cold frost of the grass.
They continued like that for almost an hour. When Fleur stopped, she had to hold Harry down as he struggled to continue. After a minute he stopped as horror dawned on his face when he realised what he had tried to do. "Sorry," they both blurted at each other, before giggling as the tense moment broke.
Harry spoke first. "I'm sorry for that, I kept trying when you stopped me and got carried away, I didn't mean to force you to-." She stopped his mouth with her finger.
"It was my allure 'Arry. I understand. I'm sorry for getting carried away. I forget that you are merely resistant to my allure but can be overcome like anyone else."
Harry smiled wryly at her. "It wasn't the worst of things I've had to suffer."
She smiled back. "And you didn't lose you mind even then, you just became a bit single-focused. Making you just an average teenage male." She grinned at him. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, you can resist the Imperious after all."
"I know, but I'm still sorry about it all, I wouldn't normally even consider forcing you.-" She silenced him with a light kiss.
"You are forgiven, as long as you can forgive my letting my aura loose and ensnaring you."
He kissed her lightly back. "Then you are forgiven."
"You never tried to find me Lucius... Your exploits at the Quidditch World Cup were fun I daresay..."
"You don't like quidditch 'Arry? But I heard that you were a star seeker?"
They were sitting in one of the rooms in the French carriages on a couch together. It was winter and Harry had been staring out the window towards the quidditch pitch, which had sparked her questioning about the sport. "That's more because I like flying, and I'm good at it Fleur. The seeker position doesn't really require me to do much teamwork, so for me quidditch matches are more about enjoying the wind and searching around for the snitch. I didn't even volunteer for the team, I was more conscripted when Professor McGonagall saw how good I was."
"What is it about flying that you love so much? Despite my 'eritage, I've never enjoyed it that much."
"The freedom more than anything. When I'm up there there are no walls, no cupboard doors, no restrictions. It's pure freedom, and it's the most exhilarating yet relaxing thing I have ever experienced."
Voldemort's attention to the teenage prisoner. "Harry Potter had kindly joined us for my rebirthing party. One might go so far as to call him my guest of honour."
Fleur looked beautiful in her gown, silver flowing down her form while blue highlighted her frame. As Harry stood next to her he thanked his lucky stars that she had said yes and chose to go to the ball with him. As they marched in he knew that eyes were upon the two of them, and when they later began to dance, he felt like the luckiest man on earth. She was grace incarnate, flowing across the floor and despite his many dance lessons he felt like a fool in heels next to her.
Later, as they kissed under the moonlit snow in the gardens, he knew that this was a perfect night, and he would treasure the memory forever.
"A wizard - young, foolish and gullible - wandered across my path in the forest I had made my home. Oh, he seemed the very chance I had been dreaming of... for he was a teacher at Dumbledore's school...he was easy to bend to my will..."
"I found something that should be able to help you, 'Arry." The two of them were sitting in chairs opposite each other in an otherwise empty classroom, lit only by a single window. "It is called Occlumency, and it is the art of the mind. Essentially, it is about knowing your own mind, and rejecting all other influences upon it - whether spell, potion or emotion."
"How does it work?" Harry asked, eager to learn.
'You have to learn your own mind, know what is yours and what is not. It is a state of knowing yourself and being honest, of examining your motivations for what you do truthfully and without falsehood. You have to know why you're doing something and why you chose the way you did."
"Sounds difficult, and like something that will take ages to learn."
"It is, there are fewer than a half-dozen masters in the world, and none of them below a half-century in age. But we can do a fast process... If you trust me."
Harry frowned at her. "What do you mean?"
"For you to learn it fast would require me to use legilimency on you; the offensive version. At first you would be unable to keep me out of you mind, until you recognise my intrusion and how to repel it. And until then I would see your deepest secrets and your darkest memories. If I do it I will need your utter trust for it to work, otherwise we would not achieve anything."
Harry looked at her for a few long seconds, both reaching out and grasping her hands. "Fleur, I would trust you with my very soul, never mind my mind. I know what you are like, and though cold to outsiders, you have a warm and generous heart, and a noble spirit. And I know that whatever you learn you will keep to yourself. Fleur, beyond all others, I trust you."
"And Bertha Jorkins, who might have ruined all, proved instead to be a gift beyond my wildest dreams... for - with a little persuasion - she became a veritable mine of information."
"It's called the 'Room of Requirement', or the 'Come and Go Room.' Dobby showed it to me when I asked him if there was somewhere we could practise. Look." Fleur watched as Harry walked thrice along the corridor, and just as she was about to ask, a door appeared. Harry opened the door and gestured her in. She walked through the doorway only to find herself in a room that was half library and half fighting pit. She wandered over to the books, and as Harry came in behind and closed the door, she whirled around in wonder and amazement.
"These are all rare books! Borgin's 'Counters to Curses,' Haptan's 'Guide to Treasure Hunting,' 'Roman Battle Magic' by Uriel Caesar... How?"
"This room will create whatever we need. Books, training dummies, mirrors, anything. The stuff can't be taken out of this room, but within the room..."
"We can learn..." She stopped for a moment with wonder.
"You told me how you wanted to be a curse breaker, and how difficult it was to prepare because of how little public information there was."
Her eyes snapped to him. "Never mind just that. This will help you survive, 'Arry. Never mind my career, I would 'ave managed. We will be focusing on training you to survive not just this tournament but whoever put you in it. You 'ave told me of your first three years here, well it looks like the trend is continuing." She was stalking towards him now, backing him against the wall mirrors. "And if nothing else I will make. Sure. You. Survive. This!" She emphasised the last few words with jabs to his chest. She collapsed into a hug with him. "Because I could not bear it if you died and I survived."
"I couldn't bare it if you did either Fleur," he murmured.
"Crucio!"
It was pain beyond anything Harry could have imagined. The Basilisk two years ago was nothing compared to this. It was as white hot knives were burning through his body, his scar was splitting his head, he felt his eyes rolling back. He wanted it to end so that he could die and join-.
And then it was gone. He hung limply in the ropes binding him to the headstone of Voldemort's father. It was, in a way, enlightening. For while Harry had never suffered such a loss before, not since the death of his parents thirteen years ago, he knew through long experience how to deal with pain.
"Now untie him, Wormtail, and give him back his wand."
"You are the most natural fighter I have ever seen 'Arry, and my father is the 'ead of the French Auror department. You are picking up these spells ridiculously easily 'Arry. Between your reflexes, your precision and your casting speed, there are very few people who will be able to stand against you when you have a wand in your hand."
Harry stood opposite Voldemort, holding his wand loosely, twitching slightly with visible effects of the Cruciatus curse.
"You have been taught how to duel, Harry Potter?" said Voldemort softly, his red eyes glinting through the night.
'I do not believe in dueling, and have never won a single one in my life. Despite that, I am feared as the Hand of the King, known throughout the land as the dagger that is plunged into the enemies of the Monarchy. I do not duel. I kill.' - The Ignoble Art of Death, by Black Hand of the King 1204-32
Harry held back a smirk as he remembered the books he and Fleur had read in the Room. Instead, he thought about what he wanted to accomplish with this fight.
Before you engage with an enemy, you must think about why you are doing so. What state do you want to leave them in. Alive? Dead? Crippled? And how so, do you want them to die by fire, by a quick Killing Curse, or by 'tripping on the stairs?' - Tactics, by Uriel Caesar
Harry's eyes flicked to Fleur's body. Dead, from a killing curse, simply because she was spare. As his eyes returned to Voldemort, he realised that what he said to Fleur was true. He had no desire to live a life without her. But before he died, he would ensure that every last one of the killers in this graveyard went down with him.