A/N:

Hi, new fic! Slightly weird one.

Because my other stories so far have been light-hearted, I feel the need to warn you that this one is NOT purely fluff. There will be moments, but this fic also prominently features a character with questionable morals. If you're easily offended you might want to give this one a miss.

Let me know if you like it!

There came a time in every damsel's life when she had to buck tradition and save her knight in shining armor.

At least, that's what Gabrielle told herself as she killed Vernon Dursley.

The day had started innocently enough, with her breaking into a muggle registry to find Harry's home address, and subsequently following the directions to 4 Privet Drive. She got to the house and camped outside the windows in hopes of catching a glimpse of the boy she loved, and eventually struck gold when Harry entered the kitchen and put a pot on the stove.

She had a perfect view of him from where she was hidden in the garden, and the domestic display from the boy was doing positively dangerous things to her heart. She wasn't sure what he was cooking, and she really didn't care. She probably would've given a kidney just to taste some of it either way.

She stayed there watching him for over half an hour, even as her legs started to get stiff from the uncomfortable position. It was a small price to pay though, and she knew it was as close to him as she could allow herself to get. Any closer and she wouldn't be able to contain herself, which would ruin the entire 'Harry Reintroduction Plan' she had drafted for the coming school year.

"But still," she muttered to herself. "It's torture just to watch him…"

Gabrielle wanted to burst through his doors and beg him to spend the rest of his life with her, but she also didn't want to come off clingy or desperate.

Even if she sort of was.

"Would he find it cute or creepy if I climbed through the window…?"

She continued to watch him, resisting the urge to get closer, when she saw his uncle walk into the kitchen. She knew him to be Vernon Dursley as she recognized his face from the registry, and she once again thanked her lucky stars that there was no blood relation between him and Harry; he had clearly dodged a genetic bullet there. She was sure the man was nice enough, but good god, if he was in a pen she'd have believed he was a pig.

Gabrielle watched interestedly as Vernon approached Harry and peered down at the contents of the frying pan, frowning and saying something that seemed to communicate displeasure.

She couldn't hear their conversation from where she was positioned, but she could tell it wasn't friendly and it was only getting worse. Harry didn't back down as his uncle got up in his face, and both started to raise their voices. Eventually the man slammed his hand violently down on the counter, spittle flying from his mouth as he bellowed, causing Harry to shrink back a bit.

Gabrielle narrowed her eyes. As it turned out, the man wasn't nice enough at all.

"He doesn't know what he's getting himself into," she chuckled.

As Vernon continued to yell, she waited anxiously for the moment Harry took out his wand and cursed him to oblivion. Harry Potter was the hero of the British wizarding world, the winner of the Triwizard Tournament, and most importantly, her personal savior. There was no way he would let anyone talk to him this way, family or not.

Only, the moment never came.

"What's he doing?" she wondered. "Why isn't he putting the vile man in his place? Surely one spell and-"

Thwack!

Gabrielle froze in shock as she watched Vernon strike Harry in the face with a backhand, sending the boy sprawling to the floor. She quickly recovered from her stupor however, and her eyes turned red with rage.

She had to push down her Veela instincts; the ones that wanted her to transform. She was only one-quarter Veela, and as such could only grow razor sharp nails and little flightless wings, but this wasn't the time or place to reveal that to anyone.

And even if she wasn't going to transform, that didn't mean she was going to sit back and do nothing.

"That was a big mistake, Vernon."

"FREAK!" Vernon yelled, kicking at the curled up boy on the floor. "How bloody useless can you be? You burned my sausages!"

Harry didn't bother answering, and instead just huddled tighter on the ground, trying to protect his body as best he could. He knew from experience that it would be easier and faster to let his uncle do what he needed to; Vernon hated resistance.

The man's abuse had gotten worse lately, as if he had picked up on Harry's constant state of distress since Voldemort's return and decided to make life even more miserable for him. Harry hadn't even burned the sausages, but Vernon would find any excuse to get enraged these days. Usually he kept his mistreatments of Harry verbal, emotional, or indirect, but Petunia and Dudley were out that afternoon and the emptiness of the house had apparently emboldened him.

"You think you can waste my food, is that it?" Vernon snarled. "You think it's funny? You'll be lucky if you get anything to eat until next week!"

A particularly vicious kick impacted Harry's head, and he felt his vision go blurry.

He could have ended the 'fight' with one casual flick of his wand, but they both knew he wouldn't actually do it. Vernon was likely under the impression that Harry wouldn't risk getting expelled from Hogwarts and losing his place in the magical world, but Harry's reason was twofold.

Of course he didn't want to find out what the ministry's reaction to him casting a spell on his uncle would be, but he was also afraid of what spell he'd end up casting. Since witnessing Cedric's death a month ago, Harry had been forced to grow up and he felt his tolerance for bullies like Vernon start to decline.

Last time he used magic on an unpleasant family member, he had accidentally blown her up like a balloon. He was afraid that with a wand in his hand he'd blow Vernon up too, but less like a balloon and more like an egg in the microwave. He'd been leaving his wand in his room lately.

We hardly need two convicted killers in the family, Harry remarked silently, thinking of Sirius as he often did.

He waited for Vernon's next kick to come, but even after a few moments of dreadful expectation nothing happened. Cautiously, he turned his head up to see if the man had gotten bored and left already.

He hadn't left at all.

Instead, Harry watched as his uncle's massive form fell forwards, landing face-first into the carpet beside him. He subconsciously noticed the hand axe buried into the back of the man's skull, but the implications weren't sinking in yet.

He stared up at the place Vernon had been standing not long ago, and noticed a new figure in his stead.

"Harry! I'm so sorry I'm late," a sweet, feminine voice said. "It took me a minute to break into your shed and find something sharp."

His vision started to clear and he took in the appearance of the speaker. It was a girl, around his age.

"Are you okay?" she asked. "Can you hear me? Can you see me? How many fingers am I holding up?"

Harry blinked and wondered if he was actually still asleep, stuck in some sort of weird dream. He glanced to the side, trying to find some inconsistency that could back his claim, but his eyes met his uncle's body instead. Blood was trickling out of his head from where the small hatchet was embedded, and there wasn't even the barest hint of movement coming from his huge frame.

"He's…he's dead," he said, slowly realizing what had just happened. "Vernon's dead…"

"I should think so," the girl replied with a giggle. "Even if he didn't use it much, he can't go on living without a brain."

Harry immediately threw up on the carpet in front of him.

"Oh my gosh!" the girl exclaimed, running over to him. "Are you sick? Do you have the flu?"

She bent down and cupped his face with her hands, looking at him with genuine concern. Her eyes were open and honest, but that only terrified Harry more. He was still struggling to get a handle on what was going on, but one thing was for certain: this girl was deranged.

"Stay away from me!" he yelled, scrambling back away from the girl. He glanced towards the stairs, weighing his chances of getting to his room and retrieving his wand before she had the chance to stop him.

"Oh. Okay…"

She looked hurt by his words, but otherwise made no move to close the distance.

That confused Harry; if she was here to kill him, this would have been the perfect opportunity. Instead, the girl just stood there, looking at him sullenly.

"W-who are you?" he stuttered. "And why did you…"

His words trailed off as he tried to keep the rest of the contents of his stomach down, but the girl caught his meaning.

"I kind of figured you wouldn't remember me," she said with a sigh, "and I still haven't decided if that's a good thing or not. In any case, I'm Gabrielle Delacour – it's a pleasure to meet you again, Harry."

He narrowed his eyes at her, wondering what she was playing at. He remembered the little girl he had pulled from the Black Lake well enough, and knew she was a far ways off - both literally and figuratively - from the young woman in front of him.

"You're not Gabrielle," he said certainly. "I met her just six months ago; she's a kid."

She frowned. "I'm not a kid, I was just a bit of a late bloomer – that's a common thing among Veela, you know. I'm the same age as you." She blushed and fidgeted a bit before continuing. "We have the same birthday, actually…"

"That's impossible," he continued to protest. "The last time I saw Gabrielle, she barely knew any English!"

"I learned," she replied simply. "I found myself highly motivated, after all."

He still wasn't convinced, but his certainty was steadily being chipped away at. Now that the thought was in his head, he couldn't help but notice that the girl had the same silver hair as both Fleur and the little Gabrielle from his memories. She had grown, matured, and become much more beautiful, but the fundamental features of her face remained similar enough to be recognizable. Combining that with the fact she had no apparent reason to make such an arbitrary and unbelievable lie, Harry's resolution started to crumble.

"So you came from France and learned a new language just to…to kill my uncle?" Harry asked incredulously.

"No! To come and meet you, silly. I wasn't planning on killing anyone today – I swear. I wasn't even supposed to talk to you yet, but 'best laid plans' and all that…"

Harry glanced at his uncle's body but quickly averted his gaze again. "Then why…?"

She raised her eyebrows as if his unspoken question was surprising. "Why did I kill him? Because he was hurting you, of course. Why wouldn't I kill him?"

"Because it's wrong! Even if he was hurting me, that doesn't mean he deserved to die."

"Doesn't it?"

"No!"

"Why not?" she asked, tilting her head quizzically. "Do you think you're the only person he's ever hurt? Do you think the kind of man who abuses his teenage nephew is the kind of man who conducts himself properly in every other avenue of his life? Do you think a man like that doesn't leave a lasting negative impact on the world, poisoning all of the people he interacts with and perpetuating a vicious cycle of abuse and predation?"

Harry bit his tongue. He didn't want to listen to her, but her words nevertheless forced him to think about Dudley. Through Vernon, a truly abhorrent child was raised, and by his hand countless neighborhood children suffered on a daily basis. Her logic was robust and shallow, but it made sense in a cynical sort of way.

"That doesn't make killing acceptable," Harry said eventually. "There are other ways to go about things…"

She gave him a soft maternal look. "Oh, Harry. You're telling me you wouldn't kill Peter Pettigrew given the chance?"

Harry's jaw dropped. "What!? How could you possibly know about that!?"

She smirked at him but gave no direct reply to his inquiry.

"I think that answers my question," she said. "Anyway, it's been nice, but I've really got to run. If I don't get back to the hotel soon my parents are going to start getting suspicious."

"Wait, what? You're just going to leave?"

She shrugged. "We're heading back to France tonight, and I still have to pack."

"That's not what I meant!" he said, shaking his head. "You think I'm just going to let you walk out of my house after killing my uncle?"

"Yep!"

She smiled at him, and his jaw dropped again.

The girl was insane!

"And when the police or the aurors come, and I tell them it was you who killed him, what are you going to do then?"

She pursed her lips as if thinking, but there was a playful glint in her eyes that made it seem like she wasn't taking his threat very seriously.

"I suppose I'd just have to stay in France," she said. "But it doesn't matter. I know you won't tell anyone it was me."

Harry raised an eyebrow at her. "You're certain of that, are you?"

"Pretty certain."

"And when I don't tell them it's you, and they see a dead man in my living room, what then? You think I'll keep my mouth shut when they blame me for killing him?"

The girl giggled, and Harry looked at her with a mixture of disgust and disbelief. "How can you possibly laugh about this?" he demanded.

"You said there was a dead man in your living room."

Harry cringed away from her on instinct. She was totally insane!

"Anyway," she continued, ignoring his horrified expression. "You don't have to worry about the police or the aurors – Dumbledore's getting here first."

"What? How do you-"

Before he could ask the girl how she knew so much, she bid him a quick farewell and scurried out of the room.

"I'll see you soon, Harry!" she called as she closed the house's back door.

A few moments later, the front door opened.

"Harry!" a voice called, rapidly approaching by the sound of their footsteps. "Harry, are you in there?"

A young woman with bright pink hair burst into the living room, took one look at the body on the floor, and tripped over her own feet in shock. She caught herself and looked around in a panic, but when she saw Harry unharmed she visibly relaxed.

"Oh, thank goodness!" she exclaimed. "I saw the shed and the front door had been broken into, and I thought you might've been att- Wait! Did you do that!?"

She pointed at Vernon, horrified, but Harry was still reeling from the events of the previous five minutes and didn't get the chance to answer before she spoke again.

"You know what, actually, stay right here," the woman said. "I'll be back in a second. Dumbledore told us to fetch him immediately if any complications arose, and this is definitely complicated."

She took out her wand and with a soft 'pop', she disappeared from his living room.

Dumbledore? Harry thought, his brain slowly catching up. So…Gabrielle was right? But how did she know, and how did they get here so quickly?

Before he could puzzle through any of those questions, another pop sounded and the young woman was back with Dumbledore in tow. The older wizard looked around the room, quickly evaluated the situation, and turned to his companion urgently.

"Tonks, get Harry back to headquarters, and tell no one what you've seen here until I return. Quickly now!"

Harry moved to ask the man one of countless questions, but before he could get the words out his hand was gently grabbed and Tonks apparated them both away.

"Gabby, are you almost ready?" Apolline called from outside the door.

"Oui maman!"

Gabrielle finished packing up her hotel room, carefully placing her collection of Harry Potter newspaper cutouts back in her suitcase.

As she left with her parents and headed towards the international portkey that would take them back to France, she reflected on the day's events. She had gotten to see Harry, and even ended up speaking with him, though the latter had not been part of her plans. She had tried to play it cool, but upon further reflection she felt like it could've gone better.

I can't believe I killed his uncle during our first proper meeting after my growth spurt, she lamented silently. I hope he doesn't think I'm weird or anything…

Since meeting him for the first time six months ago, Gabrielle had grown, become fluent in English, and developed into an undeniable beauty. She had intended on leveraging those to play the character of a mysterious and alluring foreigner with a past connection to him, but she had definitely blown all of that today.

Oh well. I probably ruined my chance at being mysterious, but maybe I can play the cutesy spoiled type instead?

She thought back to the way he had looked at her earlier and decided she might have ruined her chances at that too. That disapproving glare still made her shiver. He had been much more irritable and defensive than she was expecting, but she didn't mind in the least. Honestly, the angsty hero thing he had going on was rather dreamy.

Finally she remembered the way he looked on the floor being beaten by his uncle, and a deep sadness welled up in her heart. At first she had wondered why Harry hadn't fought back, but over the course of the day she thought she had figured out the right answer. Harry was too noble, and fancied himself as a righteous man who would never punch down and use magic on a muggle. Combining that with the rumors she had picked up about him over the past few months, she was getting a pretty distinct mental image of the boy and he was clearly much more moral than someone at the direct center of a war ought to be.

But that doesn't matter anymore, she told herself as they touched the portkey. I'll be back for you soon, Harry, and I'll protect you from anyone who tries to take advantage of your kindness.

She smiled contentedly as the French countryside came into view and she followed her parents back into their family estate.

You can continue to be the moral paragon Britain needs – I'll dirty my hands enough for the both of us!