AN: It was supposed to be a one-shot, but that pesky muse wouldn't leave me alone. So, a second chapter. As usual, I own nothing related to Harry Potter.

After the wedding

The day after

Harry wakes up, slowly and a little disoriented. He is face up, with Fleur ressonating softly, curled up against his side and with her head on top of his left arm. It takes him a few seconds to realize that someone is tapping softly at his door. The tapping has been going for a while. It takes a few more seconds to realize who it is.

Gently, Harry lifts Fleur's head with his right hand and slides out his left arm from under her. He grabs his wand, his glasses and pads to his bedroom door, ignoring the fact that he has nothing on. He opens the door just a crack. Teddy is wearing boxers and his butterfly tie, and Victoire is behind him in a sexy little shorts and top thing, trying to giggle silently. Harry can't help saying something. "That was fast," he whispers.

"Very funny." Harry points his wand at the tie and casts $loose$. The tie unknots. "Thanks."

"Anything else?"

Teddy shakes his head and turns around, but Victoire steps forward, goes on tiptoes and kisses Harry in the cheek. "Be good, Papa."

"I'm working on it, darling."

Harry is careful to close the door softly and he turns around, just to find himself face-to-face with a sleepy, gloriously naked Fleur. He startles a bit. "Oh!"

"Did I hear Vicky?"

"Yes." Harry grabs her shoulders and turns her around, guiding her back to bed. "It's four in the morning."

"Hmmf."

After she is back under the covers, he goes around the bed and gets next to her. She turns on her side and spoons, head on his left arm, and his arm draped around her. She pushes his hand against her breasts, like a plush toy, her backside pressed against him. Harry is not about to complain, but he is fairly certain that he is not going to fall asleep again like this.

A couple of minutes later, when Harry thinks that Fleur has fallen asleep, she snickers softly and wiggles her behind against him. "I guess you're not asleep."

"No."

"Before I take care of you, would you tell me what they wanted?"

Now Harry snickers. "Would you mind reversing that order?"

Fleur doesn't reply. Instead she dives under the cover. A few satisfying minutes later, they are back spooning. "So?"

"Well... I helped Teddy with his tie, using a parseltongue spell. We both forgot he wouldn't be able to undo it."

"A parseltongue spell? Why didn't you use the cravatte charm?"

"I have never heard of the cravatte charm."

"But you knew a parseltongue spell for knotting a tie?" She sounds a little incredulous.

"It's not like that."

"How is it then?"

"Well...parseltongue words function as spells if you put in the intent."

"So, which word did you use?"

"$Butterfly$." She jumps a bit. "Butterfly. I sort of drew the tie with my wand to help focus the intent."

Fleur sits up to look at Harry, with a huge smile. "That's... merveilleux!"

Her reaction confuses Harry. "Wonderful?"

"Yes! Wonderful! Please, show me." She sits up on the bed, legs crossed. It's a very distracting sight.

"Sure." Harry summons his wand, points it at her head and does a small circle. "$tail$." Her bed hair straightens and gets tied up with a silvery strap into a high ponytail.

Fleur laughs, delighted. "Oh, Harry! What word did you use?"

"Tail."

Another laugh. "And I can't undo it?"

"It's like any charm. It will decay in a week or so. But you can't end it with a finite."

Fleur chuckles. "My charms don't last a week." Harry shrugs. "Your regular charms do?" Harry justs shrugs again. "You're so... unassuming, cherie. I just wonder what other surprises you are hiding."

"I'm magically strong and a parselmouth. I'm tough to beat in a fight and a good flier. I'm pants at anything fiddly, like healing, household charms or fancy transfiguration. Except for the parseltongue trick, that I only learned a few years ago. I'm a magical blunt instrument, Fleur. That's all." Harry shakes his head, a little ashamed.

Fleur can see something is wrong. "I can't see the problem with that."

Harry sighs. "My mother was a charms and potions genius. She invented new spells, for Merlin's sake! My father was a transfiguration prodigy. I'm sorry if I sound whiny. I just feel I don't measure up, somehow."

Fleur thinks for a bit. "Did you ever talk to someone about this?"

"No."

"Hm. I'm flattered, I guess."

"Look..."

"No. Please, listen. Power, you either have, or you don't. Finesse, on the other hand, needs work and it needs patience, but it can be learned."

"I see."

"Do you? Let me ask you a silly question: do you love magic?"

"What do you mean?"

"Does it fill you with wonder? Is there joy when you see something new, something unexpected like your parselmagic? Most people who grow up around magic never experience this. But you grew up with muggles, n'est pas?"

Harry's mind goes back to Hagrid's visit, to his first view of Diagon Alley, of Hogwarts. "I know what you are talking about. I used to love magic, I guess. But..." He lets the sentence die.

"But?" Fleur prods.

Harry breathes in and out slowly. "I lost it after the end of the third task. Riddle's return. Magic became a pretty grim business. So, I guess the answer is no. I do not love magic, or maybe, I haven't loved it for twenty years. After the war, I almost put my wand away and just forgot all about it. The only reason I didn't is my friends. Actually, my friend Hermione, if I'm being honest.

This last seems to touch something in Fleur. She sniffs a bit, and a tear rolls down her face. Harry picks it up with a finger. It glistens in the moonlight coming from the window. "Are Veela tears magical?"

A weak laugh. "I don't know. You'll have to ask a potions master."

Harry tastes it. A little salty, and a faint tingle in his tongue. "Definitely magical." Fleur smiles, but the smile is sad. "I'm sorry." Harry says.

"That tear was for myself, Harry." Harry embraces her, and they lie back down together, Fleur half on top of him. "I've always been a loner. With the Order, and William, I thought I'd found something. Then came the girls. Everything came crashing down when I lost my little boy. Twenty-eight weeks. I was sure we had made it, but Veela and sons... chances are less than one in ten."

"Let me guess. They blamed you."

"Even I blamed myself. Being Veela is not easy. Still, William blamed me, and that was all right. But he started ignoring the girls. It hurt them. That's when I left. He never even asked for custody. He's barely seen them since."

"I know."

"I was heartbroken. I had given William everything I had, and he was not the wizard I thought he was."

"I made the very same mistake."

"I should have known better. I was raised hearing the stories. I guess the great Dumbledore and the war blinded me. My mother tried to warn me, and I wouldn't listen."

"You were what? Nineteen?" She nods. "It's quite understandable. And I should have realized it when I saw how Molly and Ginny treated you."

Fleur laughs a little. "So, we were both foolish."

"I'd say naive."

"You're too kind."

"There must have been some good times."

She smiles. "I should not say this..."

"What?"

"Tonight. It was better than anytime with William."

"I know I'm good..."

"You are very good, cherie, but It's not that. You are much more resistant to the allure than William. I can let myself loose." Fleur snickers. "You could make a very good living as a breeder for the Council."

"You mean spend the next decades shagging Veela for a living? Hmm..."

"I'll be happy to write a testimonial."

Harry looks into her eyes, suddenly serious. "But what if there is only one Veela I'd want to shag?"

Fleur Delacour, thirty-eight, mother of two. master of charms and senior curse-breaker turns speechless and blushes furiously. "Ehh..."

Harry looks at her a little worried. "Did I step over a line somewhere?"

Fleur recovers quickly. "No, no! You just took me by surprise, that's all."

"I was hoping we could do it again."

Fleur giggles. "And again, and again..."

"Yes?"

"I'm not against it. But I wasn't looking for a relationship."

"Neither was I. In my experience, such things just happen sometimes. Unless you're living by yourself in a cave, of course."

Fleur replies dead serious. "I do spend a lot of my time in caves, Harry."

"I know."

"Give me some time to think."

"Of course. An encore?"

Fleur shakes her head and laughs. "You are insatiable, monsieur."

"I hear the same about Veela."

Her eyes flash. "You hear quite correctly."

Fleur wakes up alone in bed around ten the next morning. Truly satiated, for the first time in her life. A little disappointed for Harry's absence, but not much. She visits the loo and roots around Harry's closet for a t-shirt. As it happens, Harry and Fleur are about the same height, so his t-shirts are just not long enough. She ends up stealing a Puddlemere game shirt and pair of red boxer shorts. If it wasn't for her Veela healing, Fleur would certainly be walking funny. How many times was it? She almost expects to hear sloshing as she moves.

Fleur hadn't seen Harry's home the night before. It's a terraced penthouse, with two bedroom suites on the top floor and a large terrace with a panoramic view of London and a nice three-bedroom flat downstairs. All modern, and very muggly decorated. She follows her nose to the kitchen downstairs, where Harry is manning the stove, while Albus is sitting across him. Both Harry and Albus smile when they see her. Very similar smiles. Messy black hair and bright green eyes. More than looking like his father now, fifteen-year-old Albus reminds Fleur strongly of the scrawny Harry Potter that she first met during the Triwizard.

"Hi, Aunt Fleur!" Albus greets her with a wave and with his mouth full of eggs and toast.

"It's good to see you again, but it would be better without meeting the contents of your mouth as well, dear."

"Mmmh. Sorry!"

She sits next to Albus and Harry cancels the stasis charm from a small tray covered with a white cloth, sets the tray in front of her and removes the cloth, giving her a peck in the lips in passing. "Good morning."

Fleur looks down and startles. A pair of flaky-looking croissants, a dollop of red jam and of butter and a large latte. It looks perfect. She sips the latte, and takes a small bite of a croissant. "Thank you." The croissant is good, not great, and the coffee is perfect. "How..."

Harry looks smug. "I could go on about my hidden seer talents..." Fleur snorts amd Albus snickers. "but the truth is that Vicky left a note."

"That was thoughtful." Fleur drinks deeper of her coffee and feels her brain cells purr in response.

She owes her eldest a nice gift.

"So, you two are..." Albus asks tentatively.

"That's under advisement." Harry replies in a dry tone. "How did things go after we left?"

"There was a bit of a scene after you two left. Grams and mum got into it, but before it got serious Gramps ended it." Albus filled his mouth, carefully swallowed and looked at Fleur before continuing. "Mum was defending you two."

Fleur is surprised. Ginny was always the worst. Harry, on the other hand, nods thoughtfully. "She came to talk last night. I believe she might be finally growing up a little."

Albus is clearly uncomfortable with the subject. Getting caught between the Weasleys and his father wasn't easy, and, despite staying on his father's side throughout, he does love his mother. "Rosey and Scor went public last night, which drove uncle Ron barmy. I think Nick was angling to join them at the end. Albus gives a slight glance at Fleur, but she just smiles and says nothing.

"Are you ok with that?" Harry asks. Scorpius is Albus best friend, and he is very close to both girls as well."

Albus takes the mature road and shrugs. "I just hope they know what they are doing."

"What about you? Anyone in view?" Fleur asks.

Albus glances at his father and grimaces. "Nothing serious. It's my OWL year, and I'm not a genius like Rosie." He smiles softly. "There's this cute fourth-year Puff, though. I think he might be interested..."

"Ask him out, pup." Harry says as he looks at Fleur and smiles, "You don't want to miss out on a good thing."

Albus notes the flirting and grins. "You guys are cute!" Albus pushes his plate away and gets up. "Talk about OWL's, I have a ton of work to do." He offers Fleur his cheek for a kiss and gets one. "Be good, Bye!" He saunters away to his room.

"He seems happy." Fleur observes.

"He is a lot more comfortable in his skin after he came out. It's a true joy to see."

"When did that happen?"

"At the end of last Summer."

"And how did everyone take it?"

"Jamie, Teddy were great. I thought Scorpius was going to be a problem, but I was mistaken. He's Albie's best friend, and it looked complicated for a bit. In the end, they are solid as always." Harry sighs. "The trouble is Lily."

"Her mother's daughter?"

"Yup. And thirteen, headstrong and spoiled."

"Ouch!"

Harry chuckles. "You got that right."

Fleur massages his shoulders. "They do grow up."

"I know." Fleur finds a knot and Harry moans. "Your girls were always such a joy, though."

"They had their Weasley moments too. They probably just kept them hidden from 'hot uncle Harry'."

"You're kidding..."

"Non. Desolee."

Harry shakes his head in dismay. "At least it's better than 'boy-who-lived' or 'dark-lord-slayer'."

"Oh, I'll definitely agree with that." She pushes hard and Harry moans again.

"You're good."

"Anything worth doing..."

"is worth doing well. I know." He turns around and pulls her in, kissing her hungrily. "I can get used to this."

She puts a finger on his lips. "Shh, cherie. Don't push."

"All right. So, what next? Back to the bedroom?"

Fleur laughs. "You really are insatiable."

Two days after

Harry puts on his auror robes and gets ready to go to work. He comes out of the loo and sees Fleur, still wearing the Puddlemere jersey, adjusting a pair of old jeans, a wool sweater and trainers for her size. "Hey."

She stops what she is doing, turns around and smiles softly. "Good morning, cherie."

"I like it when you call me that."

"I enjoy doing it too."

"So?"

"You are going to work, and I'm going home to Paris."

"I see. How long will you be in Paris?"

"Three weeks. I have a meeting at the Vatican on January eighth that will probably become my next job." Fleur can see how upset Harry is, but she can't bring herself to do something about it. He has his job, and she has hers. There is no future for them. Then something overcomes her pessimism. "Do you want to join me in Paris?"

Harry stares at her, his eyes glowing softly. Fleur has learned that the glow is his way of expressing passion. Harry is very passionate. She waits patiently, her heart beating fast. It takes him a minute to reply. "I need a day to make arrangements."

"How will you come?"

"The Eurostar. I love that train."

Fleur smirks. She won't confess, but she loves it too. "I will pick you up at Gare du Nord at three."

"See you soon, then."

She gives him a long kiss. "Au revoir, cherie."

Three days after

Fleur is experiencing a serious case of regression. She's a teenager again, getting ready for her first date. She is entirely too anxious. Three times, she's changed her outfit. She wants sexy, lacy things, but she hasn't gone shopping for that in ages. She wants elegant, understated, seductive... she promises herself she will be going shopping at the first opportunity. A whole new wardrobe. Maybe her cherie will help her choose...

She screams and sets a dull brown blouse on fire.

Try again. Black, skimpy silk panties. Stolen from Gabrielle, if she remembers correctly. Tight white jeans, ending at her ankles. Light blue woolen socks. White ballet shoes. No brassiere. Her breasts, not as agressively perky as they once were, and large as they are for her frame, will still hold out against gravity for a few more decades. At least if they follow the example of maman's even larger pair. A white, long sleeve silk blouse, tucked, two top buttons open. A nice little peek if she leans forward a bit. A cashmere v-neck sweater, in the same light blue of the socks. And a bright yellow echape, for a bit of color. A touch of perfume, Opium, one of the good ones. No make-up. It's blasphemy on a Veela's skin. Just a touch of eyeliner. The ponytail, of course, is still there.

She looks at herself in the mirror with an annoyed frown. It's getting a bit late, so it will have to do.

It's a fifth floor walk-up on the Quartier Latin. A tiny one-bedroom she rented through the internet. Great neighborhood. Down the stairs, out to the street. Walk a few blocks, then it's the Metro, Blue Line, straight from Luxembourg to Gare du Nord. Most men, and a few women, turn to see her walk by. Not a whiff of allure, which she's been in full control for a long time. A small smile and her cheeks pink with the cold air and the anticipation. Her panties wet just at the thought of him.

She arrives just as the Eurostar is pulling in, and waits about five minutes until he shows up. She sees him walking slowly, with the loose gait of a dangerous predator. He attracts his own share of female attention, for some subtle, non-physical reason. Dark green corduroy pants, steel-toed boots, a white t-shirt and a plain black leather jacket. A small backpack in army camouflage hanging from one shoulder, a lopsided grin and bright eyes.

Fleur hesitates for half a second, before tossing restraint to the wind and running, jumping on him and kissing him like she hasn't seen him in an age. He holds her by the waist and twirls around, laughing. People around them grumble, make lewd or good-natured comments or laugh. "I missed you, Harry."

"I missed you too, fair lady. It's been a lonely day-and-a-half."

A tiny voice in the back of Fleur's mind keeps saying: 'it's going to be very hard to let this go'. But it is just a tiny voice. The rest of her mind is just cackling madly in anticipation for what's next.

They snog on the subway, on the way back and up the stairs. Most people look at them with amusement. It's Paris, after all. They get back to her apartment a little past four. At half past nine, hunger compels them to go out for food. At eleven, they are back, having hardly tasted the excellent cafe food they were served. The pattern would repeat for four days, wake up, shag, eat, shag, and so on.

One week after

"Harry..."

"Hmm..."

"We are going to the Louvre after lunch today."

"We are going to look at paintings?"

"Non."

"What are we going to do in the Louvre, then?"

"We are seeing a friend of mine. And we are bringing a gift. Then you will have a guided tour of the Magical Louvre."

"Hmm. That's fine. We still have a little time until lunch."

After they get dressed to go out, Fleur takes a small wooden crate from her closet and hands it to Harry. It's unfinished wood, about eighteen inches by twelve by six, and weights no more than ten pounds. "No magic anywhere near this, cherie," she warned him.

Harry examines the crate, curious. "Is it fragile?"

"The contents are fairly well-protected, but..."

"Got it. No dropping it, no banging it against a wall."

"That would probably be best."

"Is it valuable?"

"Of course. Priceless."

Harry smiles. "All right. I'll protect it with my life."

Fleur sighs. "I'd rather you didn't." She kisses him. "You're quite precious yourself."

They get to the museum by muggle taxi, without incident. They enter through a side door and present themselves to a receptionist, a bald man with thick glasses. There's some rapid exchange in French. Then Fleur takes a badge on a lanyard from her purse, places it around her neck, and Harry gets some kind of visitor badge, with a faint trace of magic. After some more discussion, they step through a security checkpoint, where the crate is scanned through an x-ray machine. After security, they are met by a tall brunette in her mid-twenties, dressed in sober business attire. "Fleur!" She opens her arms, hugs and kisses Fleur in both cheeks, while rattling in very fast French. Fleur responds warmly, but soon interrupts her friend's tirade. "Annette Mathieu, this is my boyfriend, Harry Potter."

"Ah!" She looks me up and down, cooly. "So zis is the famous 'arry Potter." Harry shrugs. She extends a hand and Harry air kisses it. "Any friend of Fleur Delacour is a friend of mine."

Harry smiles. She seems fun. "I'm honored."

"Annette is one of the the curators here at the Louvre. She was one year after me in school." A witch then, and ten years older than she looks, Harry reasons.

"You don't need to tell me who 'arry Potter is, but I'd be curious to know 'ow zis boyfriend zing 'appened."

Fleur smirks. "Later." She points at the crate. "Gifts first."

Annette walks ahead, down a long corridor. "Follow me."

She walks them past a strongly warded door, into another corridor and through another door. The room we arrive has cabinets around it, a sink, some wheeled carts and a large table in the middle of the room, with a strange moving lamp on top of it, all in dull metal. If anything, it looks like a place to perform surgery.

Harry places the crate on top of the table. Fleur stands over it and focusing on her hand, changes her right-hand index fingernail into a half-inch curved talon. She prickles her left ring finger and lets a drop of blood fall on top of the crater. When the blood touches it, the crater enlarges a bit, and the top detaches. With a flourish, Fleur removes the top. "Et voila!"

In a bed of gray rubber foam, two half-foot, thin amphors with faded colors and symbols. Fleur levitates the bed of foam, and under it, there was another bed of the same, with two statuettes, one, an eight-inch female figure, with exaggerated breasts and hips, but no face, in pale stone. The other, an eighteen inch piece, in shiny black obsidian, looking like a cross between a human, a mountain troll and a lion. This last one has a distinctive feel of darkness.

Annette is plainly delighted. "Oh, Fleur! 'ow marvelous!" To Harry, the black statue is anything but marvelous, but he keeps his opinion to himself. "Would you mind telling us about ze pieces?"

"They come from vaults at the Temple of the Sun, which was a site of worship for about a thousand years, until the Santorini eruption, thirty-five hundred years ago. The amphors are Minoan, with faded preservation runes in an early script. There is some residue of healing salves inside, probably for burns and cuts. The Venus figurine is neolithic. It has a faint emanation of fertility magic, coming from a set of unusual proto-runes at the bottom of the figurine. The obsidian piece is an early representation of Angra Mainyu..."

"Wait! Zat's not possible! Zat's at least five centuries too early!"

Fleur shrugs. "Can't argue with the facts, sweetie. The roots of the Cult of the Fire are older than we thought."

"Zat is amazing! We publish togezzer, non?"

"Of course."

Harry can't stay quiet any longer. "It may be amazing, but if I'd found that thing in anyone's possession I'd arrest their arses and destroy the dark object."

"There is paperwork at the bottom of the crate, Harry. It's perfectly legal. And safe. "

"Safe?"

"This is ze Louvre! Nozzing will ever leave here to be used for evil..."

Harry snorts. "Right. What about Grindlewald? Didn't he just take whatever he wanted?" Harry is clearly getting upset. He turns to Fleur. "You don't keep dark artifacts around and just hope they won't eventually be used to power some dark ritual or another. And that thing is bloody strong!"

Fleur turns to Annette. "He is not wrong."

"Zen what? We destroy priceless pieces of 'istory because of fear? Zat's unacceptable!" Fleur can't fault Annette either. The museum is not just a job, it's her life.

Harry is standing, rigid, his eyes glowing softly. She looks at him, and something tickles her mind. Something crazy. "Annette, have you ever heard of Saint Jeroen's Benediction?"

Annette frowns. "Eet's a child's tale, non?"

"Do you remember how it goes?"

"Somezing about a cursed dagger, zat could possess anyone who touched eet. Ze cursed one would kill people, and when he or she was stopped ze dagger would possess someone else. Finally, a friar, Saint Jeroen, came across someone cursed and ze dagger, and even grievously wounded 'e called upon ze light of 'eaven and banished ze curse."

"This sounds oddly familiar. Do you think the dagger might have been a horcrux?" Harry asks Fleur.

"What do you know about 'orcruxes?" Annette asks, clearly disturbed.

"I've destroyed some. I've seen people possessed by one. But the ways I know to destroy a horcrux, will destroy the object used as well."

Both Annette and Harry look at Fleur, who is looking to the ceiling and humming to herself. After a minute she looks at them. "Yes! I remember. It's on a medieval book about exorcism. I remember it said that only those with the strongest faith should attempt to use it."

"Faith?" Harry asks.

"That's magic, in modern parlance," Anette explains. She then turns to Fleur. "So?"

Fleur points to Harry. "Behold. The most faithful wizard in Europe." Harry blushes and Fleur giggles.

"So cute!" Annette comments with a grin, then turns serious. "Look, if you can remove ze taint from ze artifact, wizzout damaging it, the Louvre will gladly pay wizz ze usual curse-breaker scale."

"And how much is that?" Harry asks.

"In this case? Twenty-five." Fleur says.

"Twenty-five galleons?"

"No, silly, twenty-five thousand galleons. You get half."

"Half?" Harry sounds a little offended.

Fleur scoffs. "Do you know the spell?"

"No..."

"So, I supply the brains, you supply the brawn. Fifty-fifty sounds generous, non? Besides, you're the one who really wants to clean up Monsieur Mainyu."

It takes a couple of days to get a fair copy of the passage describing the benediction from a friend of Fleur's. Then Harry starts training the spell.

"The incantation is 'Sanguis Lucerys Purga Tenebris". The spell requires a few drops of the caster's blood on the target and 'righteous anger' as part of the intent."

"Is there a wand movement?"

"This spell was to be cast with a staff. Just point and shoot, Harry."

Fleur spells a hairbrush with an itching curse with a slight but noticeable dark signature. Then it's up to Harry to cleanse it. A drop of blood, and the first ten attempts lead to nothing but frustration.

"If my experience with the patronus charm serves, the problem is with 'righteous anger' thing."

"Which memory are you using?"

"The moment I heard the ministry awarding custody of Rose and Hugo to Ron."

Fleur frowns. "It might not be visceral enough, perhaps."

Harry shakes his head. "There are two moments... I guess I don't like thinking of either."

"Yes?"

"The first is when I woke up tied to a headstone and saw Wormtail helping resurrect Riddle. He had just murdered Cedric too. The other is when Bellatrix killed my godfather Sirius."

"That sounds a bit more like it."

The next attempt actually produces some light. Then Harry was exhausted and had to rest. For the first time since the wedding, Harry went straight to sleep. The next day, after meditating to refresh the memories, he finally manages to cast it and clean the hairbrush.

In the following week Harry practices with increasingly dark artifacts from the Louvre's collection. Harry, Fleur and Annette decide to to attempt the cleansing of the Angra Mainyu statuette at Yule, the Winter's Solstice, to take advantage of the day's favorable magic.

Sunset on Yule finds Harry, Fleur and Annette in a small clearing at the Bois de Vincennes, surrounded by a muggle-repelling charm. The sky is clear and temperature a little below freezing, reminding Harry of Autumn in Scotland. The three of them are shoeless and wear heavy woolen robes over pure cotton white shifts. A pair of aurors stand outside the wards. A compromise, after the Louvre informed the government of an impending magical event of large proportions. Angry words were exchanged between the Minister and Annette, and things only got settled after the liberal use of the names Delacour and Potter.

After sunset, Fleur and Annette prepare a protective circle, about five yards across, anchoring it with seven small, blood-inscribed runestones. The purpose is containment, so that nothing untoward should escape. A couple of hours after sunset, they remove their outer robes and kneel in opposite sides of the circle, activating the protection with a chant. At the center of the circle, on top of a flat stone, the black stone eidolon stands quiescent.

Harry, sits cross-legged, a yard away, focusing on the intent of the spell he's about to cast. Once the protective circle is in place, Fleur yells. "Ready!" Harry stands slowly, inspires, and raises his wand.

For over three centuries, the eidolon stood at the heart of the temple. Bloody worship of a fearsome god of darkness. Thousands of sacrifices were placed at its feet. The fears and aspirations, dreams of conquest, the desire for safety and for the destruction of enemies, the large and the small concerns of a people long gone. With worship comes power, trickling slowly, and retained in reduced form through the destruction of its temple, the turning of the eidolon from object of worship into spoils of war, and the long wait in a forgotten vault. There is no malice in its darkness. But there is, maybe, just a sliver of the soul of a dark, angry god.

Harry Potter, a powerful and well-meaning warlock, is, to a large extent, unaware of all that. He cuts through his left thumb with a silver athame and lets thirteen drops of blood fall on the eidolon, preparing for the spell and, inadvertently, awakening the awareness inside its intended target.

He lifts his wand, musters his intent and casts loudly. " Sanguis Lucerys Purga Tenebris".

A bright beam of white light leaves the wand and hits the eidolon. In every single trial case, a simple touch of the light was enough to dispel the darkness. Not this time. Something in the eidolon resists. Surprised, Harry pushes more magic into the spell. There is still resistence, but there is also a little give. A slight glimmer begins to appear opposite the place where light beam is hitting. The glimmer grows, begins to take form. Harry pushes even harder, grinding his teeth, folding his anger into the spell. He begins to feel his reserves depleting.

The glimmer takes a reddish tint and forms into the shape of the head of a lion. Fleur, who is watching this with increasing alarm, pushes more magic into the protective dome. She knows she cannot interfere with what's happening inside. Not at this point.

The red lion head opens its mouth in the appearance of a roar, but instead of noise, the ground shakes a little. As Harry appears to be tiring, and his beam of light weakens, the lion head separates completely from the eidolon and flies, straight into the top of the dome. The lion head hits the dome once, twice, with a shower of sparks each time. Fleur and Annette scream in pain and fear. They pour their magic into the dome, in an effort to avoid a breach. Again the lion head appears to roar and the ground shakes, harder this time.

Harry stands, wand hand hanging limp to one side, clearly spent. Finally, he notices he is not alone inside the dome. At the same time, the lion head seems to notice Harry. It moves forward, fast. Harry raises his wand, with the intention of casting a shield, but it's too late. The lion hits Harry in the face, and it seems to stretch, entering him through his eyes, nose, ears and mouth. Harry's eyes turn a solid shade of blood red, and he screams.

"Ah, merde," Fleur mutters softly to herself.

Pain! Like his head is coming apart. Then, a screech, inside him. A thousand shrill voices screaming at him, in a language he doesn't understand. For a moment, Harry is paralyzed, and he feels an angry red haze invade all corners of his mind. It pushes him inwards, mindlessly. It's nothing like a legillimency attack. That feels like a spike, pushing at one place. This is attacking him all at once. It doesn't feel like possession either. This force is mindless. Pure instinct. There is no plan, just mindless anger.

Harry Potter is a powerful wizard. One in a thousand, perhaps. But take away the magic, and there is more. A stubborn will to live, forged by Vernon and Petunia with harshness, hunger and pain, deep in a dark cupboard. Tempered by Snape, Umbridge and Riddle. He will not give up and he will not bend. Not one in a thousand. The indomitable spirit of one in a million. He will not leave quietly. He will not give up. He will fight, long past reason, past even the death of hope.

But stubborn spirit is not enough. The advance of the red invader is stalled, but not reversed. They struggle, an unseen battle of wills. But, on one side is unthinking instinct, and on the other, an intelligent, battle-seasoned human. His opponent is a memory, a fragment of a god of darkness. And you don't fight darkness with anger. You fight it with light.

Harry gathers the intent of his greatest magic. Making love to Ginny for the first time. Holding newborn James, Albus and Lily. First words, first steps... and a beautiful, caring blonde that is quickly becoming as important the air he breathes. He pushes at the red darkness with a wandless, wordless patronus, made purely of intent and the last dregs of his magic.

The battle lasted less than a minute. From Harry's eyes, a tattered remnant of the red lion comes out. And after it, a bright silver stag, that passes through the lion shape, tearing it into pieces. And the small pieced seem to shy away and finally dissolve on the stag's light. The stag still chases wisps of redness for a bit, than it turns around and touches its snout lightly to Harry's forehead. Harry smiles a little and tries to raise a hand to caress the stag, but passes out before.

He opens his eyes in a bright white room. Next to the bed, Fleur is sitting on an armchair, a book on her lap, napping. She looks a little worn out, but breathtaking as always. He closes his eyes, to listen to her soft breathing. A few minutes later the rhythm changes and he opens his eyes again, to a pair of bright sapphire blues and a soft smile.

She greets him first. "Hello."

"Hi." He sits up on the bed. "How long?"

"Sixteen hours." At his inquiring look she continuess. "Just magical exhaustion and a broken nose."

"A broken nose?"

"When you passed out you fell forward and hit your face on Monsieur Mainyu."

Harry laughs and touches his face. "So he got in the last punch."

"You could say that. Do you remember everything?" He nods. "It was completely unbelievable."

"Had you ever seen Prongs?"

"You mean, your patronus? No, but I knew it was a stag." She shakes her head. "Incroyable."

Harry chuckles. "I guess I bit more than I could chew."

"We were reckless. No, I was reckless. That spell is for artifacts cursed by malice, not eidolons once worshiped as incarnations of a God... I'm so sorry." She looks down in shame.

"Fleur, hindsight is always perfect. You had no way to know. Besides, if I understand correctly, Annette is as knowledgeable as you are, and she had no idea either. It's not your fault, I swear."

"Hmpf. We are still alive, so we learn, and we try to be more careful."

"That's the spirit." A long silence follows.

"You're going back to work in a week." Fleur says it, still looking down.

"Yes."

"I can't do this." She starts crying. "I can't let you go. I won't."

"Fleur..."

"I'm going back to England with you."

"No."

She lifts her face, her eyes full of tears. "You don't want me?"

Harry laughs. "Oh, I want you." He caresses her face. "I wan't you so very, very much..."

"So, why not?"

"I learned a great many things from you and Annette this past couple of weeks. One thing came across clear as day. You absolutely adore your work."

She shrugs. "You can't have everything."

"But, you see, you love your work, and I hate mine."

She sniffs, and the tears dry up. "What are you saying?"

"I'm just asking. Fleur Delacour, Are you willing to take on an apprentice? I know I'm a little old, and not quite as educated..."

"Oh, Harry, you idiot. Stop!"

"Why?"

"I'm not taking a Godslayer as an apprentice. That would be ridiculous."

"A Godslayer? Are you crazy?"

She crosses her arms under her chest and looks determined. "I saw it with my two eyes. You, Harry James Potter, killed a God."

"If Mainyu was a God, it was a pretty sorry excuse for one."

"A God is a God." She uncrosses her arms and waves them about. "Just stop complaining."

"All right."

"I'll take you on as a partner. If you're willing, of course."

"Sure. Actually, I think we make a good team."

"Of course. As long as you do exactly as I tell you."

They both laugh. "No more Godslaying though, all right?" Harry adds.

"It's a deal." Fleur gives Harry a sly look. "It was very sexy, though. And Annette thought so too."

"Annette has a little blemish on her left ring finger."

"Her husband is a pig. He doesn't deserve her."

"But we do?"

"Of course! Hmpf. You brits are so tightlaced."

"Let me be perfectly clear. You want us to have a threesome with Annette?"

"Oui. Is that a problem? She is fun, I promise. Just a little kinky."

Harry shakes his head. "I have nothing against shagging you both. But I'd rather have you just to myself for a little while longer."

She smiles. "Fine. Annette will be disappointed."

"She will live."

"Later, then?"

"Yeah, later." It is a complete mistery to Harry whether this last bit was on the level, or some kind of test. In the end, he figures that it was probably both, and that he will never really understand the female half of the universe.

Five Years Later

A whistle, followed by a loud explosion. Harry lifts his face from his wife, earning a loud protest. "What was that?" He asks.

"I. don't. Know. Get back here now, Harry!"

"We better check." Harry puts back his pants and Fleur puts on a microskirt that ought to be illegal. They climb up. Harry is a little sorry for whoever interrupted Fleur's fun.

The Prongs is a two-mast, sixty-foot, ocean going schooner, with a fiberglass hull, heavily spelled to be handled by a crew of two. At that moment they are about one hundred miles east of Madagascar, on an easterly course, headed to the western coast of Australia. In a parallel course, about a hundred yards away, is a very ugly hundred-foot trawler, with a small cannon on the deck, pointing at them. Someone with a megaphone is hailing them. "Heave to. You are going to be boarded."

Harry and Fleur trade a glance and smile. "Uh, oh, Harry! I think we got pirates!"

"What are you thinking, Mrs Potter?"

"There might be innocents on board of that... ugly thing." They lower two zodiacs, and about twenty scruffy-looking individuals board each one of them.

"Hm. That's about forty. You deal with them?"

"Sure, cherie. You check the Ugly."

Harry summons a broom and disillusions himself. He waits until the zodiacs are about half way to the Prongs before flying. Fleur's fireballs are really only accurate uo to about thirty to forty yards, but the zodiacs make for a rather large target. She sends four fireballs, each about two feet across. Three of them hit. One of the zodiacs just sinks, whereas about half the crew of the second one jump overboard to douse the fire. In the meantime, Harry's first bombarda hits the cannon, the second takes out the rudder and the third removes the pilot's cabin of the Ugly. The half-dozen people that survived Fleur's fireballs and are not swimming begin shooting at her. She apparates to the top of one of the forward mast of the schooner and casts another three two-foot fireballs at the remaining Zodiac. Two of them hit.

She ends up with about a dozen heads bobbing between fifteen and thirty yards starboard of the Prongs. She apparates back down and begins to stun them individually. They will just drown once hit, but, at this stage, witnesses are a problem, and these people are just pirates.

Meanwhile, Harry has landed aft on the Ugly. A revelio spell shows about twenty people still alive, half a dozen of these below decks. The people above decks are all armed. A summoning brings all weapons forward to Harry's feet. He melts the pile of guns with a strong fire spell. He then starts walking forward slowly, sweeping the deck with individual bludgeoners. After about half a dozen quick deaths, a large scarred man comes forward with his hands up in the air, shouting in what appears to be arabic.

"English?"

"Yes, yes. We surrender." The man replies in heavily accented english.

"Everyone on board here." Harry points to an open space in the middle of the deck. There is some quick arguing, some shouting and people begin to shuffle forward assembling on the indicates space. In the meantime, Fleur arrives in a broom.

"Everything under control?" She asks.

"It seems so. You?"

"Yes."

Sixteen men and two women, who appear to have been severely mistreated, assemble. A quick revelio shows yet another live human on board, who Harry presumes, is not able to walk at this time. A twisted piece of metal is enchanted, and Fleur and the two women are portkeyed back to the Prongs. The men are all stunned, except for the individual who appears to be their leader. A quick legillimency probe on the man, something Harry is far from proficient, convinces Harry that this bunch is well beyond redemption. A visit below uncovers another woman, no more than sixteen, with a suppurating cut on her thigh and high fever. Another portkey dispatches her to Fleur. Back on deck, Harry climbs on his broom and casts a few overpowered bombardas at the water line. Ten minutes later, the Ugly is sunk with all surviving hands.

Back at the Prongs, Fleur has managed to communicate with the women. One of them, a twenty-one year old danish national, was kidnapped from the street in Djakarta six months prior. She has family back in Copenhagen. The injured one is a sixteen-year-old Indian, and she was taken from a pleasure boat just a few days before. She lost her parents and her young brother, but her extended family is rich and well-connected. The third one is a twenty-three year old from the Phillipines, and was a serving maid in another pleasure boat. She's been in the pirates hands for over one year. Her family is poor, but they will receive her back. The Dane and the Indian are easily disposed. Each is memory charmed to keep just a faint recollection of their captivity and rescue. They also get a borrowed dress from Fleur's wardrobe, a thousand euros in hard currency and a portkey, one to a clearing at the Bois des Vincennes and one to the inner courtyard of an ashram outside Madras, which Harry and Fleur visited some time before. The last girl is called Angela. After a long conversation with Fleur, she is read in on the magical world, sworn to secrecy and hired as a general helper on the Prongs, with the understanding that she would have her memories modified or removed in case she wanted to quit. She eventually married a squib and stayed permanently in the magical world, working for them in one capacity or another until she died.

It was past dinner time when Harry and Fleur could go back to what they were doing before being rudely interrupted by pirates. Their life is fairly adventurous, so, aside from the semi-permanent addition of a muggle employee, the incident barely registered as either relevant or worth discussing. They were certainly not going to lose any sleep over disposing of that sorry bunch.