𝕸𝖔𝖓𝖔𝖈𝖍𝖗𝖔𝖒𝖊

Act II - The Warlock of Hogwarts

Chapter 8 - Monster

Harry awoke to a mind-numbing headache. Every time his heart beat, it sent a pulse of pain straight into his brain. Against his better judgement, he blearily opened his eyes, only to be blinded by the burning morning sunlight, filtering into the room from the rimmed window on the other side of the room. He shut them immediately, but even closed, Harry could see bright flashes of multi-colored dots dancing around in the darkness.

It took several minutes before he tried opening his eyes again. And to his immense relief, the sunlight wasn't nearly as harsh this time around. He still had to squint, but it was infinitely better than being painfully blinded. His hands automatically went to the table next to him for his glasses, before he remembered he didn't need those. He was slowly getting out of that habit, but it was too deeply ingrained in him to get over in two months. Finally regaining his vision and feeling his headache lessen, he took stock of his surroundings.

Feeling a familiar weight on his chest, Harry grabbed the edges of the sheets and slowly raised them up. From his memories of the previous night and the soft, feminine moan that was just let out, it could only be one person. It confirmed his suspicions when he spotted a familiar mop of golden hair. The sight of Fleur drooling on his chest while snuggling against him wasn't something he could get used to seeing, no matter how frequently it had been over the past month.

With their bodies practically smashed together, he could feel her every curve, every inch of soft skin on his own. Both of them were completely naked, he realised, and his lower regions were trapped between her luscious thighs. She shifted in her sleep, grinding against him, stirring a little more, before stopping altogether. Harry would've believed she was still asleep if not for the small grin on her face.

"I know you're awake."

Her smile widened, even though her eyes remained closed.

"Any plans for getting up?" he asked.

Finally, she lifted her head from his chest and stared at him with cute, hazel eyes that shone with happiness and mischief. "As much as I hate it, mon amour, I 'ave to. Even though you make a good pillow."

Harry mock-sighed. "A pillow! Well, that's one future prospect apart from the Auror internship."

Her eyes narrowed. "Are you saying that being my pillow is worse than an Auror job, Monsieur Potter?"

He gave her a lopsided grin. "Choosing to fight ugly mugs over this?" His fingers ran down her chin and neck and breasts. "What am I, crazy?"

She patted his cheek. "Good answer."

Harry grabbed his wand and performed the Tempus charm. It was close to seven. Breakfast would start at nine, so they still had another hour to spare.

"Is this when you tell me about this new gig?"

"Gig?" Fleur asked, unfamiliar with the word.

"You," said Harry. "Coming to Hogwarts. The assistant professorship."

Fleur smiled. Dragging herself across his chest, she tilted her head up and kissed his jaw. Harry ran his fingers across her tresses and pulled her into a deep kiss. He knew from experience that this was her way of diverting the conversation. But even knowing that didn't make it easy to shrug off the desire to just forget everything and sink himself into her.

He pushed her back and met her eyes. "So?"

"So what?"

He sighed. "Do we really need to play this game? You know what I'm talking about."

Fleur grumbled, softly hitting his chest, before crossing her hands over it and propping her face over it, attracting attention to her full, rosy lips. Another attempt at distraction from the temptress.

"Fleur…"

"Oh, fine!" She grumbled, "spoil my fun, why don't you?" She pushed herself slightly upward, until his eyes focussed on her cute button of a nose, "You know why I did it. I don't have a job and I don't enjoy being a… profiteuse. Mesdames Babbling and Vector will… tutelle me in private."

"And it has nothing to do with me spending the next nine months at Hogwarts?"

"Non, that would be…." She cutely lifted her lips up in a thoughtful frown, which he didn't buy for a second, "a… jolie sérendipité."

Harry rolled his eyes. It looked like she'd keep playing ignorant, no matter what he said. He might as well just let the pretence continue. But that didn't mean he had to accept it.

"Regardless, you know things will be different now."

"Huh?" she yawned. "Like what?"

"Daphne."

And just like that, her face cracked. It was only there for a second, before her expression twisted into a familiar haughtiness. "The frail princess. What about 'er?"

"She's not frail," Harry retorted. He couldn't really say anything about the princess bit. "And stop pretending. You know what I'm talking about."

Fleur shifted over him again, utterly dismissive of his claim, "What of her?"

"We're to be wed, and you know that. And that means I will spend time with her. And if things work out, she will end up as my wife. You know what that means…"

"It means nozzing!" Fleur said, bits of annoyance forming on her features. "Unless you think the girl can do better than I?"

"She's not your competitor, Fleur, and I'm not a trophy!"

"Non!" she agreed, "you're my pillow."

He gave her an oblique look. "And you're a professor. Don't think I'll not notice it if you try giving her a hard time."

Something mutinous flashed over her features. "I'm more interested in making you… uh, how did you put it? Hard!"

"Minx!"

Fleur chuckled and pushed herself off him until she was lying beside him. Knowing a lost fight when he saw one, Harry gave up on his attempts. For now. He didn't need to force the matter until Fleur actually did anything against Daphne.

"Mon amour?"

"Yes?"

"I propose a deal. If you agree to answer one question of mine, 'onestly, then I'll let her in peace."

That got his attention. "What question?"

"Non," she said, "first agree. Then question."

"Not happening. For all I know, you'll ask me about my weirdest fantasies and if I'd like to perform them with you."

She beamed. "Let's pick your favourite three and start from there."

Harry snorted. "You're incorrigible."

"A veela is not easily redeemed."

"Fine! What's the question?"

"Why did you accept me?"

Harry blinked.

"...I don't understand." He lied. He knew exactly what she was talking about.

"Now who's pretending?"

Damn. She had caught him there.

Fleur sat up, her naked form staring down at him. "You know what I am. You know what I've done. I… murdered, and I told you how I enjoyed doing it. Despite that, you accepted me. You bedded me. Why?"

He arched an eyebrow. "Fleur, I'd have to be a reptile to not be attracted to you. You're heavenly."

"And I'd have accepted that answer from anyone else but you. I saw it, 'Arry. The dégoût in your eyes. You wanted to attack me, but you… you made love. I just want to understand. Why?"

Harry got up. He really wanted to skip this conversation. "Do we really need to do this now?"

"Oui."

"What do you want to hear?" he asked. "That despite what you did, I knew you were a good person at heart, and believed you really deserved a second chance to prove your humanity?"

Fleur snorted, but otherwise said nothing.

Harry met her eyes. Green met hazel.

"You're a monster."

That Fleur didn't even flinch at that spoke volumes about her.

"But you're the monster I know. One I can reasonably predict, which is more than I can say about some others. Yes, you're a murderer, and I hate it. I despise it. But I know something about you that others don't. Or if they do, they don't really understand it."

Fleur had gone incredibly stiff.

"Which is?"

"You're not human," said Harry simply.

Fleur blinked, before her lips twisted into an affronted expression. "Excusez—"

"You. Are. Not. Human," he emphasised. "You're a veela. Yes, you look human and feel human, but deep in here," he touched her temples, "you're really not. A human does not drink from other's souls, nor kills people while feeding on them. You're veela, and it is part of your constitution. It's what you are. I can get no more angry at you for feeding than I can be at a tiger for hunting deer."

Fleur watched him, unmoving.

"I've had a long time to think about it, Fleur," he admitted. "That day, I didn't just decide to embrace you because of what happened. I didn't just give in to my lusts. You know the allure doesn't work on me. And no matter how beautiful you are, or how crazy you drive me, your body simply isn't enough for me to look past what you've done. Nor will it ever be."

"But—"

Harry raised a finger, shutting her. She wanted this, so she'd have to bear through it. "I knew what you were, Fleur, when I went to your home that day. Sirius had collected enough information on your species. Your own admittance only proved my suspicions right. But do you know what I really noticed? Not that veela are misunderstood creatures, nor that I could somehow save you and your kind from your demons. Make you a better person or some such shit."

He laughed. It sounded cruel, even to his ears.

"No. I've seen it, felt it from your voice. The moment you give in to your Allure, it is over. It is impossible to get rid of it. You can't stop it, and maybe you don't even want to stop. You said that you became a veela when you used the Allure actively for the first time, when you… killed someone. But I don't think that's right."

Fleur narrowed her eyes. Something in her posture gave the impression that she was restraining herself from attacking him. A tinge of silver was colouring her hazel orbs.

"I don't think it's that drastic. I think it happens piece by piece. One act at a time. At first it is about feeding. Then it is about pleasure. Slowly, ever so slowly, it shifts, until you cannot even differentiate between people and food. It is possible that this happened to your mother, Appoline. Maybe she, too, tried her best to limit it. Maybe find a path of a lesser evil, and if not, then get a good result out of it."

Her eyes had gone full silver now.

"I'm not sure if there is any humanity left in your mother now. But in you, I see it. The person you were. Still are. It shows in the way you help me. It shows in the tiny ways you try to avoid talking about your veela nature, or the triggers that invoke them, like my relationship with Daphne. How you tried to fully explain everything you did and resigned yourself to my judgement. It shows the way you care about your sister."

Gabrielle. He had never really gotten round to knowing if she had awakened her veela instincts, or if she was still a witch. Fleur never really talked a lot about her.

"I know you try hard, even though you slip from time to time. It scares me… I fear that someday I'll lose you to the veela, that someday, you'll be gone, leaving the monster behind. And I don't want that."

A single listening tear crawled down her left cheek.

"I know how it feels. After all, I too have something within me that's not… human. And no matter how much I try, I know that I'm not like everyone else. They call me a vessel of an ancient magic, but magic is the last thing that can describe what I have. Yes, I hold it back, but it slips through. When I get angry, when I'm afraid. I know that with Voldemort coming for me, I will probably have to dive deeper into the abyss of my power and when it looks back at me, I wouldn't know who is the greater monster. Me, or Voldemort. But I try, and it is this struggle that makes me human."

"'Arry—" Fleur began, her eyes glistening. He grabbed her by her waist and pulled her close.

"And that is why I chose you that night. Because I know what it feels to be inhuman. To be a demon. Call me selfish, but I think even demons deserve a bit of happiness. "

He kissed her. Fleur moaned into the kiss and writhed all over him. For Merlin's sake, they just had an entire night of passion, and even then, she was making the little guy stand up in salute.

"Does that adequately answer your quest—mph!"

Fleur pressed her lips into his, and the words he was about to say vanished from his mind. Within five seconds of mingling with her breath and saliva with his, his mind went berserk with naked lust. Within fifteen seconds, his mind had conjured a list of 'Things To Do With Fleur'. By the twenty-fifth, he was lying down on his back, with her straddling him. He tried to be careful, reminding himself that she was probably giving in to her instincts, and might try to feed on him. He'd have to ensure his Death powers didn't attack back in reflex.

But the sensation never came. No flashes of memories, no dazzling, out-of-the-world sensations… nothing. And despite that, she came at him more aggressively than he was.

So maybe it wasn't about the allure at all.

Maybe it was about them.

And wasn't that an amazing thought?

"Does that adequately answer your question?" He asked. "You know you'll have to keep your word. Won't—"

Fleur held a finger against his lips, stopping him. He regarded her eyes and — was she pouting at him?

"What?"

If anything, her pout grew more pronounced. She glared at him sullenly, with her golden bangs falling all over her face.

"'Arry Potter…" she enunciated, sounding like a parent reprimanding a child. "Has anybody told you that you talk too much?"

"Um… not in those exact words," he answered hesitantly, the question feeling slightly surreal. Hermione had called him thick-headed several times, but—

"Well, you do," she smirked. "So just shut up."

She grabbed his hand and guided it to the appropriate destination.

There wasn't a lot of talking after that.

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