Chapter 3

Yes, I know that it has been a while, but I haven't had much time to sit down and write. Some of you pointed out in your reviews that "Seven" trembles frequently. If I don't point this out before, here it is now. In regards to reviews, I love them all, even the negative ones. Why, because the person who took the time to tear this apart, is still acknowledging and admitting the fact that they read this. Without further ramblings, enjoy.


Seven watched as his Mistress' child seemed to take one look at him, before storming out the room and slamming the door behind her. He couldn't help but notice that even with the sudden movement, and harshness of her actions, she still made everything appear graceful. Hearing a sigh, he turned and saw his Mistress lowering herself into a chair and accepting a steaming cup from the frantic elf. She raised her hand, and waved him over to her side. "Believe it or not Seven," she took a swallow, and shaking her head gave him a small smile. "She reacted better than I expected her to."

"And what did you expect from her?" She pointed to the ground beside her, and understanding the gesture, sunk to his knees.

"Truthfully," at his nod, she continued. "I was waiting for her to draw her wand and send you crashing through the wall and into the sitting room." She didn't expect him to acknowledge what she said, but was still curious. "I wonder though, what would you have done if she did attack you?"

"I would have waited for your order. You only gave me permission to protect your child, not to attack her. If an order would have been given to stop her, I would have disabled her, hopefully with very little lasting physical damage to her. After all, she is still your child. If you would have told me to stop her, I would have done whatever it took to get her under control, nothing would have been off limits. And if you told me to kill her…," He didn't finish, and she understood. It would be obvious what would have happened. He would have moved quickly, and her Flower would have been dead before she knew what had happened. "Mistress, would you like me to speak with her?" She could see that his eyes were still dead, but there again, was a flicker of something that made him look human. If only for a moment.

No, perhaps later they could have some alone time, but she needed to deal with the problem herself. "Seven, I want you to go to the sun room," she rose, leaving her cup behind, forgotten. "I will send her to you after we have spoken." She didn't wait for him to speak; she already knew what she had to tell her daughter. It was time that Fleur heard the truth.


Fleur Delacour considered herself to be above such things that people thought women like her would need. She had proven herself during her school's dueling competition. Her hardest challenge was against a full-blooded Veela, and even then, there was no challenge. Three spells before her opponent could start was all it took. By the time the smoke had cleared, the girl was lying on the ground unable to continue. So why did her mother feel the need for her to have a babysitter? It was humiliating.

She was out in the gardens when she felt her mother's presence behind her. She was already turning, a snide remark ready to fly, when she saw her mother's face. Fleur knew that she was only a few seconds away from sprouting feathers. When she approached, she heard the slight, hawkish tone in her mother's voice. "You are sixteen years old," she looked down, already feeling her anger shrink under her mother's gaze. "Not, five. I will not tolerate you throwing a temper tantrum and storming out of the room without even hearing why I had purchased that man for you."

"It's obvious isn't it?" She still wasn't brave enough to meet her mother's eyes, but the woman wouldn't know that by the sound of her voice. "Even though I am almost an adult, you still think that I can't take care of myself." She looked up and saw that the glare had softened, and relaxed slightly. "Why?"

She had expected this, but still, her daughter's attitude was still surprising. At first, she was waiting what felt like an inevitable screaming match, but Fleur was again surprising her by acting like an adult. Taking her oldest daughter's hand, she pulled her back to the entrance to the sun room, and settled down onto one of the benches. "What do you remember about the day your Father died?"

Whatever she was expecting, that question definitely wasn't it. "You said that his heart had given out at work, and that he had been sick for some time. That, even though it was sudden, it wasn't unexpected." Again, she regretted lying to her child. It had seemed to the right to do at the time, but now it seemed that, like everything else so far this morning, was going pear-shaped.

"Fleur, your Father was only forty, even in muggle terms, that was the prime of his life. Do you really think that he could have risen in the ranks of the hit-wizards by having a heart condition? They would have drummed him out before his first week of training had been over. Your Father had been poisoned." She ignored the sound from her child and continued. "The ministry knew he had been murdered, but they weren't sure then, and they still don't know who would have killed him."

"Why are you telling me this?" She looked up, and could see the tears forming in her daughter's eyes, along with confusion and anger.

"Your Father made lots of enemies through his work and his marriage to me. Many times, these grounds," she pointed to the various trees and plants surrounding the property, "Were soaked in the blood of people who wanted him and all of us dead for his choices in life." She turned and wiped the tears from her daughter's eyes, taking a moment to smile at her. "Your Father loved us all, and never hesitated to kill in order to keep me, you, and your sister safe. I won't even go into the depths he went to keep you from finding out about the battles that took place here." Her eyes rested for a moment on the iron-wrought fence, remembering the man who died sliding down the narrow post.

"What I am trying to tell you is that your Father died protecting you, and that I wanted to make sure you stayed just as safe without him here." She nodded at what her mother was saying, but still.

"I understand what you are trying to say Maman, really, I do. But still," she turned, and could see a figure standing in the center of the room. "What makes you think that this, this boy, can keep me as safe, or safer, than Papa could?"

She watched her mother relax, and a genuine smile grace her face. "I know he doesn't seem like a person who could protect us, but let me assure you dear, that he is more than capable at keeping you safe. Why don't you go meet him?" She held in the laugh as her oldest gave a very unladylike and undignified snort.

"What would I have to talk about with a little boy?" She rose and pulled open the door, waiting for her mother to follow, but she only shook her head.

"How about a duel then?" After her nod, her mother looked over her shoulder and raised her voice. "Seven, you may do whatever you have to in order to defeat my daughter. But," she raised her hand to silence Fleur. "You must not leave a single permanent mark on her skin, a single drop of her blood will not be spilled, and I expect her to only be angry at losing to you when you're finished. No mental or physical trauma of any kind. Understood?" With a look of disbelief, she turned to face the bald creature waiting for her. "Good Luck Fleur."


He had watched them speaking, and stood waiting for them, planning what he might be able to do to appease his Mistress's oldest child. She seemed incredibly tense, perhaps she would permit him to prepare her a bath, maybe help wash her hair as well? The Goddess often enjoyed the time they spent together when he bathed her. She often told him that the experience was quite relaxing. Soon, they had entered the room, and he heard his Mistress' orders clearly. Prove yourself to my child, bring her down, but don't hurt her. "Mistress, will you stay and watch?"

When he was given a nod, he watched her move to the chair she sat in earlier that morning, and started to pull off his jacket. "Miss Fleur," she turned, and a lifted eyebrow was the only acknowledge he received. "A moment before we start please." He folded the jacket quickly, slipping off the holster on his shoulder before moving to the buttons on his shirt.

"What are you doing?" He continued to remove the garment, and again folded it before placing it next to his jacket.

"I didn't wish to damage them," he pulled the holster back on. "You may make the first move."

Fleur had watched as he stood tall and stripped his shirt off, before pulling some sort of leather contraption back onto his chest. She wouldn't admit it out loud, but he was quite attractive. While he wasn't as large as her Father, the muscle that was visible did seem quite appealing. And the low cut pants did make his hips enticingly visible. She shook her head and turned her glare onto him. He was doing this on purpose, just to put her off. She couldn't wait to blast him on his ass.

"What should I do with you when you lose," she couldn't resist the smirk at his blank face.

"Whatever you feel is necessary," it irked her that he remained so impassive.

"If I win, I want you out of this house." At his nod, her smirk turned into a full grin. "If you should win, which I highly doubt, I'll let you do whatever you want to me. Does that sound fair?" When she gave him an innocent pout and batted her eyes, she heard a light laugh. Turning, she saw her mother shaking her head, almost like it was out of pity. For her or her opponent, she wasn't sure.

"Understood," she watched him lower his arms to his sides, and stood almost relaxed. "Again Miss Fleur, you may make the first move."


She was angry, and originally, wanted to just put him on his ass, but no one should be this arrogant. He would be lucky if he had the strength to drag himself off their property by the time she was finished with him. Fleur prided herself on being to cast silently, and knew that it would end the duel quickly. Quickly, she sent five stunners straight towards him, and was surprised when he didn't move. Turning away from what was sure to be a painful, embarrassing loss, she looked towards her mother and grinned when she heard the spells strike him.

"Mother, get whatever this dog brought with him, I'll put him outside." All she got was a head shaking, and a finger pointing over her shoulder.

"Are you sure about that dear?" Turning, she saw that the boy, correction, well-developed boy, was still standing. At first, she thought that the spells had worked, that he had simply frozen with his eyes open, standing up; after all, it had happened before. That was until he took started to walk towards her.

"Your casting abilities are acceptable," he sidestepped the conjured ropes she sent flying towards him, and continued to speak. "But the flourish you put at the end of each casting takes a lot of power away from them. Remember," she didn't see him draw his wand, but suddenly, it was in his hand, and he was drawing his arm back. "A stunning spell is done with a downward motion," he brought his arm down slowly, as if he were teaching her a lesson. "Followed with a sudden thrust forward," when the spell flew, she dove to the side, and felt a flutter of panic when the stone she was standing on before exploded.

She stopped holding back, and started use banishing charms and even the odd cutting curse, and yet, the boy kept stepping around them all, he wasn't even trying to shield against them. She finally scored a hit, and had to keep from cheering when the thin red line started to drip down his chest. She was almost surprised as he was, but he only rubbed a hand against the injury, like it was an itch, looked at her face and continued to come closer. How can this bastard keep coming, he's not even fighting back, she had backed up, and froze when she felt her back touch the glass panes. Eventually, he was only a few feet from her, and she realized that he wasn't just some student with a chip on their shoulder, he was toying with her, waiting for her to tire, which she had.

He had stopped, and lowered his wand to his side, simply waiting for her. "Miss Fleur," she raised a hand to her face, and pushed the sweat slick hair out of her eyes. "You can still end this, just say the word, and accept the fact that I am going to be with you for a long time." Her answer was to tackle him to the ground and straddle his hips. When she released her control, Fleur felt him shudder beneath her, and started to feel a smirk forming on her face.

Fleur again changed her mind of the person beneath her, of this little boy, no this well-developed boy, she rolled her hips and grinned. Correction, this extremely well-developed boy was good, but she was the best. Even if he was more powerful, all it took was a little "Pull", and she had him defeated. She wanted to enjoy this, so when she felt his hands beginning to wander around her waist and chest she ignored it. This was probably the closest he had been to a woman his entire life; she could give him a small victory.

It was almost a shame that he was going to be leaving the house. He would've probably been fun to introduce to her friends; no doubt they would have been panting over him within a few minutes. "Any last words," she lazily dragged her wand down his face and smirked, feeling him practically vibrate underneath her. When she brought her wand point to rest over his heart, at a zigzag crossing of scars, he seemed to stop moving.

"I win," it was then that she felt a slight point pressing against her chest over her heart. Realizing that his hands had stopped moving, she looked down, and saw a narrow blade pressing into her chest. The little ass actually did it, he beat her, badly. He let her tire herself out, lulled her into a false sense of security, had gotten her to actually start gloating, and then rubbed her face in his victory. It was almost impressive, almost.

With a huff, she climbed off of him, and stomped her way over to where her mother was standing. She wasn't ready when her mother leaned into her ear. "Impressive isn't he?" She pulled back with another laugh, and steered her towards the kitchen. "Fleur, why don't you go get your sister, and bring her to the kitchen. She has been waiting for you, and I'm sure all this noise will have her bouncing around in her room." Knowing she was dismissed, she collected what was left of her dignity, and marched out of the room, only stopping for a second to send a glare at her defeater before leaving.

"Seven," he was already dressed, and was making his way towards her. "Come with me," he followed quietly, and soon, they made their way into the kitchen. Turned, she pulled him towards her, wrapping her arms around him. "You did very well, thank you for only hurting her pride." Again, he was shaking, and looking at his face, she could see confusion in his eyes. "Is there a problem?"

With a small sigh, he stepped back from her, and turned towards the stove, noticing a steaming covered pot, he moved towards it. "Mistress, there is something I don't understand." He lifted the lid, seeing the fluid, some kind of soup, at a rolling boil, almost threatening to pour out the top, and turned to face her. She watched as he pulled his jacket off and rolled up the sleeve on his left arm. "Why is it that pain means nothing to me? Please, I'm begging you not to move, understood?" At her nod, he made eye contact with her, lowering his exposed arm into the water.

"Harry!" She was on him, jerking his arm out of the water and into her hands before it had been more than a few seconds. But the damage was already done. She could see that his skin had turned an angry red, and that large blisters were already forming and bursting on his skin. Without thinking, she raised a hand and slapped him across his face. The mother in her was angry that he would do something so foolish. "What were you thinking?!" She turned the limb in her hands, and frowning, turned to the elf that had frozen when he saw what had happened.

"Maxie, in my room, there is a bottle of burn ointment. It will be in a narrow, light blue bottle, bring it to me." She felt the tears forming in her eyes as the elf disappeared in a cloud of smoke, only to reappear holding the bottle. "Why?" She poured it liberally over the exposed skin, and began to smooth it over his arm. "What would possess you to do something so foolish?"

"Mistress," he gently pulled his hand free from her grip, and lowered her to a chair the elf had pulled out behind her. "I was trying to prove a point," when she made to grab his arm again, he stepped back before lowering himself to her level. "I feel pain, but I don't react to it. I could cut off my own hand," he gestured to the orange paste covered limb, his eyes never leaving hers. "And the only thing I would do is collect it in the hopes that I could reattach it later." He didn't show it, but Seven calmed when she gave a small, granted it was slightly hysterical, laugh.

"I am sensing a 'but' coming." He nodded, and again she saw something flash through his eyes, but was unsure what it was.

"But, I can't understand why I feel something from you." As if to prove his point, he took her hand in his and raised it to his face. For a moment he was still, but then she felt him begin to shake. "It's the same with your oldest daughter. I can't help but move under your touch. A part of me even enjoys it. I feel my skin heat up, to the point where it almost feels like I'm on fire when you smile at me," he dropped her hand as if her touch burned, and smiling she realized it was desperation in his eyes she was now seeing. "What are you doing to me?"

She laughed when she realized what it was. It was so simple. Even though he had been trained to show no emotion, to be cold and almost unreal, something as simple as what she and her family were was what could make him human. Kind of. "Seven, the Agency, did they teach you about the types of creatures that the world contains?" When he shook his head, her smile grew, she again laughed. "Myself and my daughters are Veela." At his blank look, she continued.

"Women who are Veela," again, she couldn't help but laugh. The entire situation was comical. "We are complicated. Centuries ago, when people still lived in caves and dragged their knuckles on the ground, the Veela were there as well. We did not look as we do now," she closed her eyes, and focused on the power inside herself. Slowly, she felt the feathers sprout and her features sharpen. Opening her eyes, she saw his face was still blank, but those emerald eyes seemed to glow at this discovery. Relaxing, she felt the power leave her, and slowly, her form returned to normal.

"We used to be a much more… aggressive race. Our magic developed into something called the "Allure", but I just call it the "Pull". Books describe it as a kind of trance or enchantment, which tends to muck up a man's mind, making them willing to follow us and do whatever we desire. Back when we were a more savage race, the "Pull" was what allowed us to locate our mates. Without it, the Veela race would have died out centuries ago.

"If I were to guess, no I don't guess, I know you are experiencing that "Pull" now. I'm just grateful that you are disciplined enough to keep from acting on it. But a part of you still enjoys the feelings that it causes." She brought her hand to his cheek, stroking his face. Even though he shook, she could tell that he was making a conscious effort not to lean into her hand, which she rewarded with a smile. "I doubt that you will ever be able to truly ignore the "Pull" that we give off. But I think with time, you will come to accept that it is just going to be a part of your life with us."

"I understand Mistress." He allowed her to take his arm and inspect it again. The paste was working, and with any luck, she put it on early enough that the burn wouldn't scar. Again, she felt him shaking, and it was endearing that he didn't try to pull away from her. She could see it in his eyes that he was trying to fight it, and there was a chance that someday he might not react to them. But, if that were to happen, that would be years from now. Her husband hadn't gotten used to her until after Gabrielle had been born.

"Seven, tomorrow, you and Fleur will be going to Beauxbatons. Her term will be starting then, and I want you both to get there early. The headmistress will be waiting, and I do not doubt that she will want to meet with you." She looked up to see her elf frantic as it poured what she supposed was dinner down the drain and filling the pot to start over. She could hear the creature muttering "Seven", with what she could only guess was hate as it cut apart vegetables. "You do realize," she had pulled him up from the floor and pointed to the chair across from her. "That with what you've just done, you'll be lucky if Maxie ever lets you be alone in his kitchen again."

"I thought this was your house Mistress?"

She let out a laugh as the elf began to set the table with a fury, and seemed like it wanted to burn Seven alive in the oven. "That may be true, but I learned a long time ago that while the house is mine, Maxie owns the kitchen."


Dinner was a quiet affair, and Fleur couldn't help but stare at the boy across from her. He had changed prior to dinner into a dark blue shirt, and she couldn't stop herself from staring at the weapon hung off his shoulder. She had noticed the weapon during their impromptu duel, but had dismissed it as being decorative. When she watched him place it back in its holster, she realized that he knew intimately how to use it. But that wasn't what she dreaded.

She remembered what she had said to him when they had first started. That if he won, he could do whatever he wanted to her. What she offered him was a terrifying prospect of what may happen tonight. Yet, she wasn't afraid of him, watching him as he answered her sister's questions, perhaps he wasn't a monster, or at least, the kind of monster that would take advantage of young women who run their mouths off.

"Fleur," she looked up, and saw her mother staring at her. "Don't you want to know anything about Seven?" There it was again, a number instead of a name.

"Why do they call you that, Seven?" She watched as his face seemed to change. Before he seemed professional, awake and aware, now though, he just looked tired, like he had finished running a marathon and been told he had to go another ten miles.

"Where I was raised, after a time, they taught you to forget your name, and only respond to a number." She watched as his face seemed to darken, but she pressed.

"How did they teach you?" She watched him turn to her sister, and then her mother.

"This doesn't seem like the best setting, I wouldn't want to put you off your dinner."

She nodded, but wasn't happy. He was hiding something, and she would find out where he came from eventually. She was Fleur Delacour, she would get what she wanted.


"Miss Fleur," she was entering her room, when she saw him standing in the center. His shirt was off, and she saw that he wasn't wearing his knife or his wand. That didn't mean anything though. She watched as he stood calmly, but she didn't let down her guard, he was half dressed, in her room, nothing about this seemed right. "I remembered what you said, please come with me." She watched him walk into her bathroom, and felt the bile rise in her throat. He was going to take her in the bathroom, like a common whore. She was going to enjoy kicking his ass. When she finally gathered her courage, she entered and felt her breath leave her.

The heat in the room hit her first. It was a humid heat that she knew instantly. The clawed tub was filled to the brim with steaming water, and she had to resist the urge to moan when she smelt the lavender of her bath salts. She jumped when she felt his hands on her shoulders, but froze when they moved to her hair. "I am unsure whether you want to Miss Fleur," his hands stopped and she raised her own, feeling the pins and needles holding her hair in place. "I would be more than willing to help you with your hair, but perhaps you would just prefer to soak tonight."

She turned to face him, and saw that he was standing near her sink, a large fluffy towel in his hands. "What is this?"

With what she could only guess was a sigh, he lowered the towel to the counter and walked towards her door. "I am doing what I was trained to. I will gladly give my life, without hesitation to protect you and your family. I was also taught how to pamper the person I belonged to. I'll leave you to your bath Miss Fleur. Unless you would like me to assist you?"

She froze when he said that, and pointed towards the door. He then left and she walked slowly to the door, before relaxing as she heard the lock catch. Turning back towards the tub, she couldn't deny that it did look inviting. Stripping quickly, she entered and it felt as good as she thought it would. But her mind latched on to several thoughts. First, he pinned her hair up, what man knows how to do that? Second, why, instead of taking advantage of her like she promised, did he only draw her a bath? And finally, what seemed that most important, what did he mean by, 'he belonged to her'? As she sunk lower into the warm water, she could only think of one thing that summed up what she was feeling, "What the hell?"


Sorry about the long delay, life has been busy, and I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. Narzan, in regards to your questions. It will follow canon somewhat, I will be making tweaks to the plot here and there. It will be during the fourth year, this will be strictly a Harry/Fleur story, they will be going to Beauxbatons, but think of it as a short lay-over, and finally, yes, Voldemort will be the main antagonist. Feel free to fire me any more questions I love them. I also can't remember who asked, but yes, I will be addressing Harry being bald.