Disclaimer: Don't own Harry Potter
AN: "Like Wayhaven Chronicles, but Flowerpot" was the prompt given to me. If you don't know what Wayhaven is, no worries, prior knowledge isn't needed. It's a series about a detective and the wonderful cast of vampires that thirst after them.
This story is the result of that prompt. It's tropey, it's cheesy, ridiculous in places, and a little spicier than my previous works but I had fun writing it. It's also written entirely from one character's perspective, which was a challenge for me. It won't be everyone's cup of tea, but I knew that going in. I still hope you'll find it fun.
Big thanks to x102reddragon (who also gave me the original prompt), Foreal the Chronicler, TheMightyClark, and DJKopper for beta reading this. Thanks to Palkey, Proc, and Dr. Wish for always being up for answering any question thrown at them.
As usual, DJKopper helped me plot this one out. You're the best. Thanks for once again letting me borrow some of your OCs from "Of Witches and Snitches."
If you enjoy Harry/Fleur content stop by the Discord server.
discord .gg / f4a9Cg8rpB
Enough talk. Please enjoy If You'll Have Me.
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Magic existed.
So did goblins, werewolves, vampires, and a whole host of supernatural creatures. To the average citizen of the world, these creatures were simply stories. Tales told to children at bedtime or to keep them from misbehaving. Written into books or film scripts. None of it was real, none of it could ever really happen.
At least, that's what Special Agent Harry Potter thought until ten years ago. In a single night his world had been turned upside down. Monsters existed and all the stories were true, if a bit skewed.
He stopped his car just shy of the police line, sighing as he killed the engine. Lights flashed, piercing the night sky that was beginning to give way, soon to be overtaken by the light of the sun. He looked up and squinted. No moon in sight. That was good. Less chance for anything downright weird. He got out of the car and slammed the door, adjusting his coat as he kicked the bottom of the frame slightly. The damn thing never shut right.
He took a long drag of his cigarette before flicking it away and into a small stream, watching the fire die as it hit the water. He looked around and saw the small crowd of people peering past the yellow tape attempting to get a better look. Locals, no doubt. Had to be, he thought, they all looked far too frightened to be anything else. As he made it to the tape an officer held up a hand.
"Stay behind the tape, sir," the officer said. "Please step back."
Harry nodded and reached into his coat, looking down at the officer's breast pocket for the name.
"Officer…Creeves?" he asked as he withdrew his hand and unfolded the leather holder. "Special Agent Potter. I need to speak with the detective on scene."
The man's eyes widened as he looked at the badge before nodding and holding up the tape. Harry ducked under and continued walking, not bothering to stop and wait for the man to speak again. They'd set up a makeshift barricade of police vehicles and an ambulance to block the view from the street. He navigated between the two squad cars and into the alley proper, stopping as he came upon the crime scene.
A team of forensics techs were taking pictures and samples from the area, white flashes of light occasionally brightening the alleyway for a brief moment. The headlights of the squad cars provided some illumination, but not much. He surveyed the area before his eyes landed on a man in a brown coat squatting down next to the body.
"You the detective?" he asked as he stopped several feet from the body.
The man looked up and raised one eyebrow.
"You must be someone if Officer Creeves let you through," the man said.
Harry nodded and displayed his badge. The man let out a low whistle before standing up. He took off his latex gloves and extended his hand.
"Detective Neville Longbottom," the man said as the two shook hands. "Do you mind if I ask what a Special Agent is doing in Colsbourne?"
Harry placed his badge back into his coat and sighed.
"Are you local?" asked Harry.
Neville shook his head.
"Nah, none of us are," he explained, gesturing around at the forensics team. "Not a whole lot of crime in Colsbourne so they don't have a lot of resources. They brought us in from Bristol, though we're still waiting for the forensics lead to examine the body fully. Am I to assume you won't be answering my question?"
Harry smiled.
"The home office has an open investigation. The call into your office raised a flag that made us think we should check this out." Harry gestured down to the body. "Do you have an ID on our friend here?"
"Yes," Neville said, reaching into his coat and pulling out a small notebook. He flipped through a few pages before stopping. "He still had his wallet on him when we arrived. Foreign ID says his name is Luc Bennet. French. Age 37."
"Any money in the wallet?"
Neville nodded. "A handful of pounds and euros."
Harry rubbed his chin as he squatted down to examine the body closer. His eyes were wide and his face had been frozen open. The cause of death was obvious, at least at first glance. His throat had been slashed and his neck and clothes were stained red with dried blood.
"Time of death?" he asked.
Neville shrugged.
"I won't know until we can get him examined at the lab, but at first glance the techs think it was probably just after midnight."
"Who found him?" asked Harry.
Neville pointed to the building on the left side of the alley.
"This building houses a breakfast place. The owner and the cook were getting ready to open when the owner saw something in the alley. Called the police as soon as he got close. Officer Creeves is one of the three local officers and they called us. Been here for about an hour or so."
Harry looked up at Neville.
"Did Creeves recognize him? Or do any of the locals know him?"
Neville shook his head.
"No, I questioned the owner and the cook," he explained. "Asked the local officers and EMTs, but none of them had ever seen the guy. My guess is he was passing through. Probably running from something."
Harry raised an eyebrow.
"What makes you think that?"
Neville squatted down and pointed to the wound running across the neck.
"That was done with something incredibly sharp," he said with a slight shudder. "Cut clean through, no resistance, but the violence indicates it wasn't a fight that turned wrong. Still need to ask at the local pub, but one of the officers was there until about almost midnight last night and didn't see him. My guess is that something spooked this guy to make him stop here."
Neville frowned and rubbed his forehead.
"That's not what killed him though. At least not alone."
Harry raised an eyebrow.
"Oh?" he asked.
Neville nodded and pointed at the body.
"There's not nearly enough blood here for a wound that vicious. It'd be all over and around him," he explained. "My guess? He was already dying when he got his throat cut. He wasn't dumped here, not clean enough for that, but I don't think he died from the throat wound alone."
He pointed up the alley towards the crowd.
"Trail of blood leading from that direction makes me think that he was attacked in a car and the killer took the vehicle."
"Detective!" a voice called from down the alley.
Neville looked up at Harry and smiled before standing up.
"If you'll excuse me, Agent Potter."
Harry nodded and reached into his coat, pulling out a single black latex glove. He looked over at the group in white forensic suits who had called the detective over as he popped the glove onto his hand. He looked back down at the body and sighed, reaching out and pulling the eyelids down. Even his worst enemy deserved some dignity in death, and leaving this hapless man's eyes open just seemed wrong.
With one quick glance back at the detective Harry turned his attention back to the body, gripping the chin with his gloved hand and moving it to the side. He looked at the skin briefly before turning the head again, exposing the other side of the neck.
There, barely visible to the naked eye, were two tiny puncture wounds.
He reached into his coat once more and pulled out what appeared to be a brown pen. He touched the tip to one of the puncture wounds and clicked the side of the device. A faint blue glow lit the area around the neck. He swiftly touched the tip to the other puncture wound and repeated the process. Placing the device back into his coat he looked down. The puncture wounds were gone.
Ten years and it never failed to amaze him. The mixture of modern technology and ancient magic was a sight to behold, in any form. When he'd first joined it had largely just been weapons. Now they had all manner of gadgets to keep the supernatural world from the general public. To protect regular people from the truth that could be disastrous if it got out.
He stood, slipping the glove off of his hand and stuffed it into the pocket of his slacks. Detective Longbottom caught his eye and began walking towards him. Once more, Harry reached into his coat, this time producing a business card. He smiled as the detective reached the body, handing the other man the white card.
"When your team has the tox report, send it to my office," Harry said before turning away, throwing a wave behind him.
"That's it?" Neville called.
"That's it, Detective Longbottom," Harry called back, waving again. "Have a nice day."
He ducked under the yellow tape, nodding at the officer as he strolled towards the beat up piece of shit he called a car. Just as he passed the crowd he stopped. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up and he slowly turned around, moving his hand under his coat towards his holster. He surveyed the gathered people as they talked in murmured whispers among each other but saw nothing out of the ordinary. None who looked as if they didn't belong.
Harry stood there for another moment, eyes looking around for anything. As the news van pulled up on the other side of the street he relaxed, letting his hand fall back to his side. Must have been his imagination. He resumed his walk, making it to the car and pulling the door open, slipping inside and slamming the door shut.
As he pulled away from the scene he grabbed his mobile from his pocket and dialed the first number. He spoke as soon as the call connected.
"Luc Bennet," he said as he turned left.
"Good morning, Hermione," the voice said, sarcasm dripping from their tone. "How are you doing this morning?"
"Luc Bennet," he repeated.
"Good morning, Harry, I'm doing wonderful. Thank you for asking. How are you doing this morning?"
He sighed as the phone went silent before smiling. She knew he would always cave in first.
"Good morning, Hermione," he said. "How are you doing this morning?"
"I'm doing wonderful, thank you for asking!" Hermione replied with an upbeat note.
He heard the clacking of a mechanical keyboard and knew she was already at her desk. He shook his head. She was just as bad as he was, maybe even worse. He'd set the notification to go to his phone only, but he should have figured she'd have something else.
"We got the tox screen back from the last victim," Hermione said. "Massively elevated levels of serotonin in the blood, just like the other three."
"Was he killed by the throat slash?" he asked.
"No, this one had an unknown chemical in the blood," she replied. "The lab that ran the tests chalked it up to a contamination in the sample, but I'm thinking it might be something we haven't seen before. I'm having them send me what's left of the sample. You had a name for me?"
"Luc Bennet," he said.
Her keyboard sounded again before suddenly stopping.
"Luc Bennet. French national, though his last known residence puts him in London. Yada yada yada, graduated top of his class, yada yada yada. PhD in Chemical Engineering, he was…oh bollocks," she grumbled.
"What?" he asked.
"My search just got flagged in the system. Dammit, what'd we step into, Harry?"
Before he could respond a phone sounded on the other end of the line and Hermione answered it. She said nothing before he heard the sound of the handset being placed down.
"Wherever you were headed you're not headed there now," she said, returning to the line. "You'll need to come back to the office. We both will."
"Who was that?" asked Harry as he switched lanes.
"Director Shacklebolt wants to see us."
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He walked to the door and looked up at the camera above it for several moments. The lock clicked and he walked through, stepping into a wide office filled with rows of cubicles. The Department did a good job of appearing to be just another government office, but the stairs down to the lower levels told a different story.
The Department of Supernatural Affairs was a hidden department of MI5 that dealt with the abnormal and provided a centralized group for interacting with the supernatural community. Men, women, vampires, satyr. The department employed them all and more. It was an interesting mix, far more so than any other section of the government.
"Damn, surprised they let you in," a voice called from his left as he walked through the room.
He rolled his eyes and looked over to see Cho Chang looking at him from her desk. He looked around before his eyes settled on her.
"Where's your better half?" he asked.
"Tonks?" she questioned.
"Any other shapeshifters you know?" he replied sarcastically.
Cho shrugged.
"She's looking into something for the Director, so I'm without a partner for now." She smiled at him. "Word is you've been called into the principal's office. What'd you do now?"
"Nothing that would have warranted the lecture I'm sure I'm about to get," he answered as he turned to continue walking. "Give my regards to Nymphadora when she gets back."
"Be careful," she called back. "The boss has been in a bad mood lately. We still on for drinks later in the week? Perhaps we'll have better luck this week?"
Harry rolled his eyes.
"Has setting me up with people ever really worked out for you and Tonks?"
Cho shrugged. "Not particularly, but you have to admit that the woman you went home with last week was a hottie."
He sighed and continued walking towards the Director's office, smiling when Hermione slid in next to him.
"Are we going to get fired?" she asked with a frown.
He raised an eyebrow and looked down at her. She'd put on a skirt and blouse, complete with matching heels. Not her style and she knew it. Hermione Granger was far more comfortable in jeans and a t-shirt, sitting in front of her computer screens doing what she did best.
"You look nice," he said casually.
She narrowed her eyes.
"I look stupid," she shot back as they made it to the secretary's desk.
"The Director is waiting for you," the young man said with a smile.
"Did I look that young when they brought me on?" Harry asked as he opened the door for Hermione.
She was just about to reply when they caught sight of Director Shacklebolt glaring at them from behind his desk.
"Sit," he commanded.
They both sat, both deciding that it was probably best not to say anything. Kingsley Shacklebolt was a fair but imposing figure. He tapped one large finger on his desk rapidly.
"Why are you two searching for Luc Bennet?" he asked.
Right to business then. Harry could appreciate that.
"Because he's dead," replied Harry.
Shacklebolt sighed and stopped tapping his finger. He pinched the bridge of his nose before looking over at Harry.
"Did you kill him?"
"Now, hang on a minute," Harry protested. "Why would you think it was me? The last time I got into a life or death situation was over five years ago."
"What about three months ago?" Shacklebolt asked.
"The suspect jumped off the roof of the building," Harry explained. "Thought those fairy wings he'd sewn onto his back would make him fly. The impact with the ground killed him."
"And seven months ago?"
Harry sighed. "I told that guy to stop running because I didn't care that he was higher than a kite on gnomish weed. Had he listened to me he wouldn't have stepped out in front of that bus."
"Fourteen months ago?" asked Shacklebolt.
"I simply asked that dwarf for directions." Harry looked at Hermione for help but she simply shrugged. "He was drunk and challenged me to a duel. I declined so he attacked me. He didn't see the fire pit until he was in it."
"Two years ago."
"That…" Harry started before stopping. "Yeah, that one might have been on me."
Hermione cleared her throat.
"To answer your question, Director, no, Harry didn't kill Luc Bennet."
"Well then how the hell did you come across him?" he asked.
"We've been working a series of vampire killings in small towns," said Harry, "Hermione had a program monitoring police lines for homicide calls in towns smaller than a certain population size. Got a hit early this morning."
He raised an eyebrow.
"How do you know Luc Bennet?"
Shacklebolt looked at both of them before leaning back in his seat. He sighed and reached into his desk, pulling out a plane manila folder containing a small stack of papers. He tossed it across his desk in Harry's direction.
"Over the last eight months we've had an ongoing case involving missing Veela." The older man frowned and, for a moment, looked far older than he was. Harry opened the file and began thumbing through the pages. "They've been getting abducted. At first from their homes, but that changed after we were brought in."
"Says here there's been nine in total?" Harry asked.
"Nine so far," Shacklebolt replied. "After the seventh we brought in Luc Bennet to be a CI in a local crime syndicate that deals in the supernatural. He called his handler two days ago saying he had something and he was following up on it but wanted a meeting."
Harry rubbed his chin as he continued flipping through the pages.
"There's no pattern here. No common denominator between those who have disappeared outside of the fact that they're all Veela."
He looked up at Shacklebolt and handed the folder to his partner.
"Bennet had to have given something over the phone," he reasoned. "The CI has to make it worth the effort for us. If he was being pursued and still made the call, then it must have been important. Or he blew his cover and wanted out."
"His handler said that the last thing Luc told him was that no Veela were safe and that the next one would cripple the coven," said Kingsley, pointing to the folder. "That tracks with what's in there. The last one taken was rather high up in the largest Veela coven in the country. Tori Dupont."
"You think they're going after high value targets now?" asked Hermione.
Kingsley nodded.
"We do. Bennet's murder tells me our thinking is sound on this one." He looked over at Harry and smiled. "I think you'd be perfect for this case."
Harry raised an eyebrow.
"Why?"
"When was the last time you saw the Veela Madame?" Kingsley smirked.
Harry shook his head.
"Nope," he deadpanned before quickly standing. "It's been a year and I'll gladly go another. We'll leave your case alone, Director. Goodbye."
"I'm not asking, Agent Potter," the Director said, stopping Harry just as he reached the door. "Look, I need someone to watch her. Besides, you botched the Orc investigation last month, so you owe me for bailing you out."
"Why?" Harry asked with a raised eyebrow, ignoring Shacklebolt's comments about his missteps. "She's very capable of taking care of herself."
"Because our relationship with the Veela coven is suffering," Hermione guessed, looking up at Kingsley. The man simply nodded. "We're getting pressured externally, aren't we?"
Kingsley sighed.
"You're a little too perceptive sometimes, Agent Granger," he admitted. "We've been looking into this since the third disappearance and have made very little progress. I'm getting pressured from France and the US to figure it out. I've met with both Veela and Vampire representatives. They're not happy. Despite their shared lineage, the two groups don't often agree, but on this they do. As much as it pains me to admit it, we rely too much on their expertise and information networks to let this continue and fracture the relationship."
He looked over at Harry.
"Just go see her and tell her about Bennet. Hang around for a few days to keep an eye on her."
"And then what?" Harry asked with a sigh.
"I'll have Hermione start running down some leads and going over information I've gotten from the other team on this. See if she can't get us onto a good trail. Go see Severus in the basement before you leave."
"Yeah, I'm going to pass on that one," Harry replied.
Kingsley raised an eyebrow.
"Excuse me?"
Harry shrugged.
"I don't have a problem with Vampires, but Snape gives me the creeps. His hair looks like oil and he's always billowing that cloak of his," he explained. "I don't need his little cocktail to shield my mind. I'm going to talk to her, not sleep with her."
Harry slipped out of the office and dropped his head, rubbing his hand over his face as he walked away from the door. He didn't stop walking, not even when Cho called after him, until he got to his car. He dropped into the driver's seat and pinched the bridge of his nose.
"I've already done that once," he whispered to himself.
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The Bloom was, as far as Harry knew, the oldest supernatural establishment in the country. Opened not long after the two worlds had begun to coexist, it started as a place for both Vampires and Veela to feed. Vampires on the blood of willing participants. Veela on the emotions of the lonely, curious, and horny.
After the schism between the two species it had been taken over fully by Veela and turned into the premier destination for safe feeding. They ran the place like a business, even paid their taxes, so the DSA largely left them alone. As Vampires and Veela made up the largest number of Supernaturals in the country, it quickly became a hub for information.
That made it, for many other species, neutral ground.
He opened the door and stepped into the room, a long bar running along the far wall. Tables and booths dotted the rest of the area, a handful of early afternoon customers already milling about. The front of the building was a pub, though everyone knew that was just the public face. Behind the door leading further in was the real business.
He approached the bar and leaned onto it.
"Afternoon, Millie," he said with a nod as the towering form of Millicent Buldstrod ambled over to him.
"Harry!" she said cheerfully, grabbing a shot glass from under the bar and placing it in front of him. "Where have you been? It's been ages since you've graced my pub."
"Ah, you know, little of this. Little of that," he said as she poured amber liquid into his glass.
"Well what brings you out here? I've still got that whiskey you like."
"Afraid I'm not here for your fantastic drinks," he said with a frown. "I need to see the Madame."
Millicent raised an eyebrow.
"You got an appointment?" she asked.
He shook his head.
"No appointment," he replied.
"Sorry then, Harry. You know how this works. You only go back if you've got an appointment."
He reached into his coat and produced his badge.
"I'm here on official business, Millie," he said as he returned his badge to his coat pocket. "Is she with a customer right now?"
She narrowed her eyes but Harry waved his hand dismissively. He grabbed the shot and downed it in one smooth motion. Reaching into his coat he pulled out his wallet, fished out a few bills, and placed them onto the bar.
"I'm not here to check on operations, so you can relax," he said. "I honestly don't give two shits about what happens here. Never have, never will. I just need to talk to her."
Millie sighed and nodded, grabbing the bills from the bar and adding them into the register. She gestured towards the back door.
"Go on through then," she said. "She's probably making sure the girls have what they need. You'll need to leave your weapons with me. You know the policy."
Harry chuckled as he turned towards the back door and began making his way in that direction.
"Can't do that, Millie. DSA has a standing agreement regarding weapons. I wasn't made an agent yesterday."
She laughed and clicked the button under the bar. The door to the back buzzed and unlocked.
"Worth a shot," she said with a smile before winking at him. "Welcome to The Playground. Or rather, welcome back. Behave yourself."
Harry waved as he entered the back. He slipped his hands into his pockets and walked through the hallway, doing his best to ignore the muffled moans of pleasure emanating from behind the red doors that lined either side of him. He could feel the low bass of the music being pumped into each. Not every room was occupied, as far as he could tell, but that wasn't why he was there either. Everyone knew what The Bloom was. What The Playground, as it was known, was. Everyone knew the service they offered.
As he made it to the end of the hallway he heard raised voices. He reached the room, a simple sitting room with a stairway on one side and an office door on the other, and saw a tall man standing over a very displeased woman.
"Come on, Delacour," the man snapped. "Give me what I asked for."
"As I told you," the woman replied, "I simply cannot get you what you're looking for. C'est impossible."
He growled.
"That's not what your bartender said."
"Millie said you could ask, nothing more. You had an appointment, so you were let back here." She glared up at the man. "I think it's time you left."
The man grabbed her arm roughly.
"I don't think so you little wh-"
"That's enough, Mr. Weasley," Harry called from his spot in the archway.
The man looked back at Harry with a glare.
"Who the fuck are you?" he snarled. "And how the fuck do you know who I am?"
Harry smiled at him and stepped into the room.
"Tall. Long red hair. Distinctively Werewolf. You look just like Fred and George described you, Bill."
He stepped closer and looked up at Bill, a smile remaining on his face.
"As for who I am," he said, brushing back his coat and placing his hands on his hips. Bill cast a glance down at the weapon holstered on his side. "Special Agent Harry Potter, DSA, at your service."
Harry cleared his throat.
"Now, I do believe the Madame has asked you to leave. So, in the interest of being a good customer, how about you head back to the pub and order one from Millie on my tab?"
Briefly it looked as if Bill would say something else, make another complaint, but the moment passed and he released Fleur's arm. Harry let his muscles relax and some of the tension left him. The taller man straightened up and nodded at Harry.
"Nice to meet you, Agent Potter. Give my regards to my brothers the next time you see them."
With that he stormed past Harry, not bothering to give Fleur a second glance.
"My knight in shining armor," she purred, seeming to glide over to him.
She grabbed his arm, and he was almost certain she was pushing her chest into him on purpose as she led him towards the two chairs along the far wall. She kissed his cheek before sitting down.
"I don't think you need my help at all, Madame," he said as he sat down. "In fact, I'm wondering why you didn't see him out yourself."
She smiled at him mischievously.
"William was only turned ten months ago," she said casually. "I didn't think creating a scene would have done any good. I very much enjoy staying on Mr. Lupin's good side and didn't wish to cause any problems. You, on the other hand, were magnificent."
She looked to his coat where his gun was holstered.
"Ready to draw your weapons for little ol' me?" She leaned closer. "I find protectiveness incredibly sexy."
Harry cleared his throat and adjusted his tie. She was just trying to get him to blush, though after their drunken encounter years prior there wasn't much that made his cheeks turn red any longer. One night of pleasure and passion has turned into years of suggestive comments and seductive smiles.
Not that he was complaining. Fleur Delacour, Veela Madame for the entire country, was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. Despite her outward public persona, she was also one of the most caring, willing to help him out anytime he was stuck or stumbling. At least, until he'd stopped coming around.
"Now, I know you didn't come all this way just to break up a fight," she said before her lips turned upward. "It's been a year since you've made your way here, lover. Latest case proving to be incredibly hard? Need to work out some frustrations?"
He sighed and shook his head.
"No, Madame. I'm here on business. Does the name Luc Bennet mean anything to you?"
Her eyes widened and her smile dropped.
"Luc? Luc is one of my oldest friends. Why?" she asked. "Has he run afoul of the DSA?"
He frowned and placed a hand on hers.
"I'm sorry to have to say this, but he's dead."
She covered her mouth and several things passed through her face. Shock, sadness, grief, anger, hurt. They were all there, but she masked it quickly. He had to give her credit, a less trained eye would have not caught it.
"How did he die?" she asked.
"He was murdered," Harry replied. "When was the last time you spoke with him?"
"Yesterday," she said. "He was on his way to give me some information."
Harry raised an eyebrow.
"Information about what?"
"About my missing girls," she said as she stood up and began pacing the room. "It sounded like something big because he left his flat to go out and chase down a lead two days ago."
"Wait, back up a second," Harry said, holding up a hand. "Bennet was leaking details of the Veela case to you?"
Fleur shook her head.
"No, he wasn't."
Harry scratched his head.
"Sure sounds like it. He was working for the DSA on the case."
She nodded.
"Yeah, and he'd been working with me on it for longer. We only sent him to the DSA when we needed your resources."
"So he was working for you the whole time?" Hey asked. Fleur nodded. "Why? The DSA was already looking into the disappearances."
Fleur rolled her eyes.
"Yes, but they weren't getting anywhere. Your department has all the resources but none of the brains, present company excluded." She sat down with a sigh. "It took four of my girls going missing before your Director would even meet with me."
He thought back to the file he'd flipped through in the Director's office. The department had been looking into the disappearances since the third one, but had made shockingly little progress. Tonks and Cho had been assigned initially, but pulled for another case shortly after the fourth went missing. Fleur's name wasn't even mentioned in the file, now that he thought about it. A meeting between the Director and Veela Madame not even making a footnote was odd.
Harry pinched the bridge of his nose and a sigh escaped his own lips.
"This doesn't make any sense," he mumbled to himself. "I saw the case file myself. It's shockingly light."
"Perhaps your superiors don't place as much stock in the lives of my people as you thought?" Fleur suggested.
He rubbed his temple and looked over at her.
"So, what had Bennet found before he called you?"
"That's the difficult part," Fleur said with no small amount of frustration. "After Tori went missing he went radio silent. Wouldn't return my calls. Stopped showing up here. It was as if he vanished. Then he just called me out of the blue and said to watch my back. That he'd be here in a few days to bring me all the information I needed to stop more disappearances from happening."
She stood and turned towards him, hands on her hips.
"Come to think of it, why are you here?" she asked. "You've steered clear of this place for a year and now show up asking about my missing girls?"
Harry shrugged.
"The Director told me to keep an eye on you."
She huffed and crossed her arms over her chest.
"Then you can come with me," she said, turning around and walking towards the exit.
"Where, exactly, are we going?" Harry asked, standing quickly to follow her.
"Luc's flat," she said as they passed through the doorway to the bar. "He might have kept something there."
"Millie, I'm going out," Fleur called. "I've got a bodyguard, so don't worry."
"Try not to get hurt, Harry," Millie called with a laugh as they exited onto the street.
"My car is-" he started before she placed a finger on his lips.
"Lover, as much as being in a tight space with you excites me, I refuse to be seen in that shitbox you call a vehicle."
"I like my car," he pouted from behind her finger. She patted his cheek with a smile.
"Come now, my car is much nicer."
.
.
They pulled up to the flat and parked the car. Fleur looked up as they stepped out of the car, pausing briefly as she scanned the area. Harry raised an eyebrow.
"Something wrong?" he asked.
"I can feel supernatural energy in the air," she said. "It's all around this area. Could be nothing, could be something."
His demeanor shifted as he too scanned the area, looking for anything out of the ordinary. He couldn't feel the supernatural, not like those of that world could, but he was good at spotting things others missed. A child on a bicycle rolled by on the other side of the street. A man got out of a black car further down the road. The smell of fresh baked bread from the bakery at the corner.
Nothing seemed amiss.
"What's the flat number?" he asked Fleur as he moved towards the entrance.
"314," she responded, falling in line behind him. "Nobody above or below him."
"Your friend was a bit of the paranoid type?" Harry asked as they stepped into the lift.
She rolled her eyes.
"Luc dealt in information, lover. It was his job to know things about people that he wasn't supposed to. He reinforced the walls on either side of his flat to keep out prying eyes and ears, but couldn't do anything above or below. So, I rent out those two."
The lift opened and Harry stepped out, pausing immediately. He held out his arm, stopping Fleur in her place. The door to room 314 was ajar, the sound of someone tossing the place emanating from within. He reached into his coat to the holster under his arm, pulling out a smaller weapon than his sidearm.
They crept closer to the door and he stopped at the frame. He looked back at Fleur and nodded at her. Holding out his weapon, he scanned what he could see of the room, sweeping across the open door to the other side and peaking inside. A hulking man stood at the desk on the far side of the room, rummaging through the top drawer, tossing aside papers and various nicknacks.
Harry pushed the door open and stepped inside, weapon drawn. The man paid him no mind, or more accurately, didn't have the sense to see him as Harry realized he recognized the figure.
"Gregory Goyle, I'd recommend not moving," he said commandingly.
Goyle froze and turned towards Harry. Surprised crossed his face before he scowled and a growl escaped his lips. Harry felt Fleur slide in next to him. There was an unmistakable tension in her that even he could sense.
"Ah, ah," Harry chided Goyle, holding his weapon firm. "I know you recognize what this is. Don't take another step. Now, you can transform and you might get to full Werewolf before I put eighty thousand volts into your chest. It won't hurt as much, but I'd be willing to bet it'll still hurt like a son of a bitch. You know where I work, so you know this isn't a thrift store weapon."
A moment passed in silence, and briefly Harry thought the man would comply, but then Goyle snarled and took a step forward. Harry pulled the trigger. An arc of electricity shot through the air and slammed into the man's chest. As the impact ran through his body he shook violently before dropping to his knees. Harry sighed and walked over to him.
Goyle was still twitching when Harry crouched down next to him, aiming the weapon at the man's crotch.
"The next one's going directly into your balls," Harry said.
Goyle glared at him as he tried to regain his motor functions.
"Hurts, doesn't it?" Harry asked with a smirk. "Yeah, the last thing we have to do to be able to carry one is be hit by it. Most pass out, I certainly did, so congrats on that."
"P-Piss off," Goyle said.
Harry tutted.
"Now, now, let's not be like that. I just want to know what you're doing here." He moved the weapon closer to Goyles privates. "Please don't lie. I will pull the trigger again. Despite your B&E I do think it best to not take away most men's ability to father children."
"I was invited," Goyle spat.
Harry sighed. "Let's try that again, because I'm feeling generous. Why are you here?"
"I'll fucking kill you, Potter," the man spat again.
"Don't say I didn't warn you," Harry said.
"Harry!" Fleur shouted.
Before he could react a large, furry hand gripped his throat and another grabbed his wrist, twisting until the weapon fell. He felt the impact of a large fist and grunted. Hot pain shot up his side as a claw ran along his midsection. He looked down as Goyle held him up, hatred burning in his wolfish features.
"Die," the beast said before tossing Harry like a ragdoll into the far wall.
His shoulder hit first, and he heard rather than felt it pop out of place, crying out in pain as he hit the ground. His vision blurred, but even in the haze he could see Fleur move. She was fast, far faster than he knew she was capable of. Goyle swung wildly trying to hit her, but she dodged or ducked under every blow. Harry sat up shakily and reached into his coat, pulling out a pen and biting the cap, spitting it out as his vision cleared.
"Catch and stab!" he yelled and tossed the pen to her.
She caught it, ducked under another blow from the hulking Goyle, and stabbed him in the thigh. He howled and the sound reverberated in Harry's head like the pipes of a church organ. He groaned and stood as Goyle's form shrank. When he returned to normal size he howled again. However, his voice was no longer that of a beast, but rather of a normal man.
"What the hell did you do to me?" he yelled as he looked at Harry.
"Just a small inhibitor, courtesy of our friends at the DSA," Harry replied with a hiss of pain.
He looked over at Fleur.
"Cuff him to the chair," he told her, tossing her a pair of standard handcuffs as he flipped a sturdy, solid wood chair back onto its legs.
She did as instructed, not questioning or second guessing him, for which he was grateful. Harry limped into the kitchen as he began to assess his injuries. He felt a small bit of blood running from his forehead, but that was a minor injury. There was a cut running up his side that was bleeding, but not seriously. He had a bruised or cracked rib, yet the shoulder needed to be attended to first. He swiped a towel off the counter and returned to the sitting room.
"I need you to pull my shoulder back into place," he said as Fleur approached him. "Just do it quickly. I can't move much with it out of socket."
Fleur raised an eyebrow.
"Is this how you normally fight?" she asked.
"I'm not much of a fighter," he admitted, "I leave that to the other teams. Usually these idiots don't want to get into a scuffle with the department, so I got sloppy. Shoulder, please?"
Again she moved with inhuman speed and Harry cried out as he felt his shoulder being pulled back into place. She steadied him and sent him a look of concern as he rotated his shoulder several times. He smiled at her.
"Thanks."
She nodded, then gestured towards Goyle.
"What are we doing?" she asked.
He held up the towel.
"Questioning him," he said casually as he moved past her.
Goyle glared up at him and opened his mouth, but Harry stuffed the towel in, preventing the man from speaking. He pulled the weapon from his side and clicked the safety off. He bent over, held the barrel directly onto Goyle's left knee, and pulled the trigger. The shot rang out accompanied by a muffled scream as a mixture of blood and bone exploded into the air. Blood splatter covered Harry's arm, shirt, pants, and coat. He bent down and looked Goyle in the eyes.
"Hurts, right? That's pure silver coursing through your veins," Harry said as Goyle continued to cry out in pain. "Not enough to kill you, but enough to keep you in pain for several hours. Nobody above or below, and the side walls are soundproof."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out what appeared to be another pen.
"Now this on the other hand? This is morphine," he explained. "You've got two choices. I can give you the morphine and you answer my questions truthfully. Alternatively, this gets even messier." He pointed the gun at the man's other knee. "You've still got one knee and I've got five more bullets. I'm guessing we're going with the first option?"
Goyle nodded. Harry stabbed the pen into the oaf's hip and the effect was instant. He relaxed and a muffled sigh of relief escaped his lips as his form went limp. Harry smiled. The department didn't invent morphine, but he was damn sure they were the best at packaging it.
He reached up and pulled the towel out of Goyle's mouth.
"Do you know who owns this place?" he asked.
Goyle nodded.
"It's that French bloke, Luc Bennet. The information guy."
"And why were you in his place?" Harry asked.
"I was paid to…" Goyle trailed off.
Harry waved his weapon.
"Now is not the time to hold out on me," he warned.
Goyle nodded.
"I was paid to come in and find some information."
"What information?" Harry demanded.
"I don't know specifically," Goyle replied. "I was told to find anything about Veela and burn it."
Harry looked at him expectantly for several moments before he sighed and rolled his eyes. He'd forgotten that Goyle was an idiot.
"And did you find any information?"
Goyle looked back at the desk.
"On the desk there was something about Vampires and Veela, but I only found it when you showed up," he said, looking back at Harry.
Fleur moved quickly to the desk just as Harry's phone rang. He stood up and answered it. Hermione was calling.
"Hey Hermione," he answered with a sigh.
"Oh great, you're alright," she responded with audible relief.
Harry raised an eyebrow.
"How did you know I was in danger?"
"There was a notice that your weapon had been fired…and I was not supposed to say that," she trailed off.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" he nearly yelled. "You put a fucking trace on my service weapon? What the hell Hermione?"
"The Director made me!" she defended.
"Well that makes it so much better," he shot back before taking a deep breath and closing his eyes. Whatever happened wasn't Hermione's fault, he knew that. "Look, I've had a long day. I need an ambulance and a visit from the cleaners to my location."
"Who's hurt?" she asked as the sound of her keyboard could be heard in the background.
"Gregory Goyle," he responded. "He's missing a knee at the moment, but I gave him some morphine."
"Ambulance is on route and cleaners have been notified," called Hermione. "Anything else?"
"No, I'll fill you in later," he responded before promptly hanging up.
He sighed again and pinched the bridge of his nose before counting to ten. Why did the Director have a trace put on his weapon? He hasn't fired it in over a month, which was far longer than the usual trace required after an incident. One without cause though?
He looked down at Goyle.
"Who hired you?" he asked.
Goyle shrugged.
"No idea. They texted me and then sent half the payment immediately. Said I'd get the rest after the place was tossed." He smiled up at Harry with a dopey smile. "That is quality morphine."
Harry shook his head as the man passed out, his head slumping forward. Fleur touched Harry's shoulder gently and he turned towards her.
"You get anything?" he asked.
She shrugged, holding up a stack of papers and a small notebook.
"I'll go through this later, but I don't expect much. Luc wasn't known to be careless." She moved his coat aside. "More importantly, let's get you back and patched up."
He nodded and let her lead the way. He was tired, and the adrenaline of the brief fight had begun to fade. He leaned on her for support as they made it out of the building. He opened the car door and dropped into the passenger's seat, a grunt of protest escaping his lips as he pulled the door shut behind him.
.
.
"Sorry I got blood on your seat," Harry said as they walked into the pub.
He'd fallen asleep on the ride back, only to be gently nudged by Fleur once she'd parked. It was then that he'd noticed the small pool of blood that had dripped onto her seat and down to the floorboards. The wound had opened a bit more, but still wasn't bleeding terribly. All in all, he'd gotten lucky with his swipe from a werewolf. Still, that didn't make his staining of her vehicle interior any less embarrassing.
"It's fine," Fleur said again as they moved through the crowd. "I'll get it cleaned tomorrow."
Harry looked around and saw a smattering of regulars. A pair of Brutes talking with Millie. Three Vampires at a table. A Satyr drinking alone. As they closed in on the bar Millie looked up, raising an eyebrow at Harry.
"You look like hell," she said. "What happened?"
"I decided to try wrestling a werewolf. I normally don't let them get that close, but I thought I'd try something different today." He looked at the drinks behind the bar as Fleur hopped up and hit the button to unlock the back door. Harry raised an eyebrow at Millie. "What's the cheapest, worst whiskey you have?"
She looked back and forth before grabbing a bottle from the bottom shelf. She took the cap off but Harry simply grabbed the entire thing.
"Put it on my tab," he said, swinging around and heading towards the back.
Millie sighed.
"We don't do ta-"
"It's fine," Fleur said with a smile. "I'm going to patch him up."
"Ms. Fleur," Millie said seriously, stopping both Harry and Fleur in their tracks. "As soon as we close you activate that runestone, yeah?"
Fleur nodded.
"I will, Millie. Thank you," she replied with a smile.
"I'll be in early tomorrow with my sister. She just got into town," Millie continued. "We'll make sure nothing is missed."
Fleur sighed, and it appeared as if she would say something but simply nodded. She pulled Harry down the hallway and up the stairs until they reached the second level, stopping as they stepped off the staircase.
"Madeleine?" she called.
A blonde woman stuck her head out of one of the doors with a questioning look on her face.
"Yes?" she replied.
Fleur gestured towards Harry as they made their way towards the other woman.
"I need you to patch him up, please. Vials one and five plus bandages."
"Of course," replied Madeleine, stepping aside for them to enter the room. "Go ahead and sit down at the desk."
Harry did as instructed, gently dropping into the seat. Madeleine disappeared into the attached bathroom. The light flickered to life as she began rummaging through the cabinet.
"Millie trying to get you to hire her sister?" Harry asked.
"More like already decided herself," Fleur replied, exasperated. "She means well, but I'm not as defenseless as she thinks. Especially not here. All of my girls would defend their home if needed."
Madeleine returned with two vials and a few rolls of bandages, placing them down onto the desk. As she went back into the bathroom Fleur looked at Harry with a raised eyebrow. Her eyes darted between his face and shirt. He sighed before removing his coat, tie, and shirt. Madeleine returned and handed him the vial of light blue liquid.
"That is a healing draught, made by a-" Fleur started.
He downed the contents in one gulp. Relief flooded through his chest as the pressure and heat he'd been feeling in his ribs eased slightly. Fleur put her hands on her hips.
"They could have been poisoned!" she exclaimed.
Harry shrugged.
"You had this whole speech about it being made by a Nymph, probably a water Nymph, so either it was legit or I would at least have died knowing you cared enough to make up a story." He nodded towards the other vial. "What's that one?"
Fleur raised an eyebrow.
"Do you even care?" she asked.
"No, not particularly," he answered honestly, "but I do appreciate what you're doing, so if you want to tell me about its background I think I can suffer through it."
She sighed and gestured for Madeleine to continue. The woman opened the vial, pouring some of the contents onto her hand. It was thicker than the drink and he realized it was a salve.
"That salve," Fleur said as Madeleine began spreading it over the cut on his left side, "was created by a wood Nymph for healing injuries. The cut should be closed by tomorrow morning but it'll be tender for a few days. We'll need to wrap it tonight."
Madeleine knelt down in front of him as she unrolled the bandages.
"You know," Harry said, looking over at Fleur as he held his arms up for Madeleine to wrap his torso, "Millie just wants to keep you safe."
"I know, but I still don't like it," Fleur responded. She paced the room in frustration, hands clenching and unclenching as she tried to think of the words. "When this role was thrust on me unexpectedly I had to prove to so many that I was the rightful person for the position. I'm sure you heard rumblings of the chaos during that time. It just doesn't feel right after everything I've done to solidify my position to have someone else looking out for me."
"It wasn't so bad," he said as he dropped his arms and Madeleine stepped back. He looked up at the blonde woman and smiled. "Thanks."
"Thank you, Maddie," Fleur said. "You can go."
As the door closed behind her Fleur looked back at Harry.
"You weren't here," she countered. "You saw what our community wanted you to see. It was far worse than you think."
"Regardless," he said, grabbing the bottle from the floor, "it doesn't hurt to have someone watching your back. Especially a couple of Trolls who can put someone down if needed."
She raised an eyebrow, a smirk forming on her face as their eyes met.
"Are you watching my back, lover? What about my front?"
He looked down, unable to hold her gaze. Their last encounter had been heated, resulting in a shouting match that he was later told could be heard from every room in the building. That's how their relationship had always been now that he thought about it. Heated. Passionate. Yet there was an underlying sense of…something that he couldn't quite grasp. His mind wandered back to that first night and the lust in her eyes. The fire in his own.
He took a sip of the whiskey and grimaced.
"Oh hell, this stuff tastes like shit," he said in disgust.
She laughed and took the bottle from him, bringing it to get lips and titling it back. She gagged and nearly spit it out.
"Fucking hell," she hissed. "They sell this out there?"
He shrugged.
"It's your pub."
She smiled at him and took his hand in hers, pulling him up out of his seat. Harry opened his mouth to speak when his phone rang. He sighed as he bent over, noting that his body had gone from hurting to a dull ache as he fished the phone out of his coat pocket.
"Yes, Hermione?" he asked.
"Director wants to see you in the morning," she responded. "Remus will be there. Thought you should have a heads up."
"Thanks," he said before sighing. "I'll call you on the way in to give you the rundown. I'm beat."
"Get some sleep, Harry," Hermione said before hanging up.
Harry nodded and placed his phone back into his coat pocket. He stood and tested the bandages. They'd be applied expertly, as if he'd had any doubt. His ribs already felt better as well. He sighed and grabbed his shirt. It was torn and bloody on the side, but it had to get home somehow. He slipped it on and buttoned it before the coat came next.
He looked at Fleur with an apologetic eye.
"I've got to head home. I'll be back tomorrow around lunch. Are you going to be okay?" he asked sincerely.
She nodded and smiled up at him before standing on the tips of her toes and pressing a gentle kiss onto his cheek.
"Goodnight, lover."