CHAPTER – 25 EMOTIONS
Harry Potter concluded his narrative, his words hanging in the air as he shook his head in disbelief. "Honestly, it still feels like a preposterous dream," he admitted.
Fleur couldn't agree more. She found herself silently hoping that it was just a fantastical illusion, but deep down, she knew it was all too real. She pondered the rationale behind her decision to play the long game with him. As she gazed at Harry, who appeared rather sheepish behind the dark shades of her sunglasses, she struggled to recall what had prompted her to embark on this unconventional journey.
There were moments when Fleur Delacour berated herself for choosing to align with Harry Potter, but today was not one of those days. In fact, she believed that her restraint was commendable, considering the temptation to wring the life out of him. Instead, she settled for an intense glare as she continued to consume copious amounts of butterscotch.
Following the unfortunate incident at Florean's, returning to the scene was not an option, especially with the Trial looming just two weeks away. Harry had shown a touch of wisdom by selecting a respectable muggle ice cream parlor for their rendezvous. Fleur had grown quite fond of these tête-à-têtes with him, and ending them would have been regrettable. Harry had suggested holding their meetings at his family estate, but somehow, it didn't quite have the same allure, even if it did have a conveniently nearby bed.
Or perhaps a comfortable couch. Or even a rustic kitchen table.
As they sat in the quaint muggle ice cream parlor, the atmosphere was surprisingly relaxed. Soft jazz music played in the background, and the gentle hum of conversations surrounded them. Fleur couldn't help but be charmed by the simplicity of the setting, where the mundane and magical worlds met. The ice cream parlor was filled with an assortment of patrons, young and old, all oblivious to the secret discussions taking place at the corner table.
The smell of freshly brewed coffee mixed with the sweet scent of ice cream cones, creating a comforting ambiance. The butterscotch sauce on her ice cream dripped slowly, forming a delicious puddle on the plate. Fleur savored the sweetness of the treat as she continued to listen to Harry's account of recent events, her thoughts weaving a tapestry of intricate emotions.
She couldn't deny that these rendezvous were a curious blend of tension and camaraderie. The bond that had formed between her and Harry, born from necessity and secrecy, had its own unique charm. Fleur often wondered if, in another life, they could have been friends under different circumstances. But for now, they were allies in a complex web of politics and intrigue.
Fleur's gaze shifted from her butterscotch ice cream to the window where raindrops gently streaked the glass. There was an unspoken understanding between her and Harry, a silent pact that bound them together in a world of uncertainty. She couldn't help but wonder how their choices would affect the looming trial and the future of the wizarding world.
Fleur withdrew her thoughts from a momentary distraction and directed a mildly exasperated look at her employer. "I may not be an expert, but the Peverell lineage is linked to, well, Death, as you mentioned. On the other hand, the Greengrass family represents... summer."
"Correct," she said, her tone laced with a hint of sarcasm. "Unless we're discussing the art of inducing heatstroke, is it just me, or do these two bloodlines seem like complete opposites?"
A brief, amused smile flickered across Harry's face. "Joshua had two theories regarding this conundrum," he explained. "The first theory is based on my unique status as a Peverell Vessel. He believes that the power of Unmaking, which is intrinsic to the Peverell lineage, might have somehow undone the blood curse, or at the very least, significantly weakened it. According to him, any children I might have with, well, Daphne, would inherit the same properties, potentially countering the blood curse."
Fleur's skepticism crept into her voice as she inquired, "And the second theory?"
"It's true that my ancestry test identified me as a Greengrass as well," Harry continued, a trace of excitement in his tone. "And there is some evidence to suggest that I could be a vessel for Greengrass family magic. In that case, it makes the situation even more intriguing."
Fleur couldn't help but sound incredulous. "But how is that even possible? Life and Death are fundamentally opposing forces, and they can't coexist within a single individual."
"He mentioned something about Family Magics adhering to a law of independent assortment," Harry elaborated, his expression contemplative. "These magics don't readily intermingle with other ordinary or family magics. Yet, there's no precedent for opposing powers coexisting within a single person. To be honest, I think Joshua might be reaching for answers in the dark."
"And what's your take on all of this?" Fleur asked, her expression a mix of concern and frustration.
Harry's response was tinged with resignation. "What is there to think? I'm an anomaly. That's nothing new."
As their conversation delved into these mysterious and intricate family magics, Fleur couldn't help but feel a growing sense of unease. The blending of life and death, summer and the Peverell lineage, was a puzzle that seemed to defy the laws of magic itself. It left her pondering the boundaries and secrets of the wizarding world, and how much was still undiscovered.
The implications of these theories were profound, not only for Harry but for the entire magical community. If the blood curse could be undone or weakened, it could have far-reaching consequences, altering the fate of generations to come. Fleur knew that they had stumbled upon something that transcended their personal struggles and ambitions.
With a sigh, she reached for her melting butterscotch ice cream, her thoughts swirling as they contemplated the enigma that was Harry Potter and the mysteries that lay ahead.
"Stop saying that," Fleur implored firmly, her grip on his hands tightening. "You mustn't label yourself that way."
Harry's response was devoid of emotion, which made it all the more disconcerting. "You can sugarcoat it however you want, Fleur, but a truth remains a truth."
Fleur stared at him, her expression unreadable. Every time she engaged with him, he seemed to effortlessly remind her of the depth of his enigma. He was someone who held the potential for both great intrigue and peril, a delicate balance that she found oddly captivating. However, Fleur was a veela, and dancing with danger was in her nature. After all, why should Harry be any different? Yet, for the moment, she needed to steer the conversation in a different direction.
"I recall you mentioning that Monsieur Black wanted no part in his family's affairs," she said, changing the subject. "So, what exactly did he grant you permission for? A simple arm-in-arm stroll?"
"Handfasting," Harry corrected her, offering an explanation. "It's a Celtic tradition, somewhat like a formal courtship agreement, but with a magical binding element. It's not commonly practiced anymore since people are free to date whomever they choose, but some families still adhere to it, often for the purpose of securing alliances or deals. If both individuals find themselves compatible at the end of this period, which, in our case, is Yule, they can enter into a betrothal contract, setting a date for marriage."
Fleur mulled over his words for a moment before abruptly sliding her sunglasses down to conceal her eyes. She didn't want him to discern her thoughts, at least not at this moment.
"So," she began cautiously, "what happens if you find that you aren't compatible?"
Harry frowned, pondering the question. "I'm not entirely certain," he admitted. "Marriage to Daphne would likely be the best course of action for both of us if we're serious about breaking this curse. However, neither of us wants to be trapped in a loveless marriage, which is why..."
Ah, Fleur thought to herself, finally understanding. That was the crux of the matter. The prospect of marrying to break a curse was a daunting one, and she could empathize with Harry's reservations. It was a predicament that transcended their personal desires and ambitions, forcing them to confront a choice that carried immense weight and consequences.
As they delved into the intricacies of their situation, Fleur couldn't help but feel a growing connection to Harry. They were bound by circumstance and duty, navigating uncharted territory with no clear path forward. The complex dance they were embroiled in, both magical and emotional, only deepened the enigma that was their partnership.
"So, I assume Monsieur Black proposed the idea of 'handfasting'?" she inquired, already suspecting the answer.
Harry shook his head. "Actually, it was Joshua's idea. Either way, he's also assisting me with the upcoming trial, serving as my defense attorney. I didn't even know that wizards had attorneys."
"Of course, they do," Fleur replied with a knowing smile. "My maman has seven of them."
"Seven?" Harry repeated, incredulous.
"She enjoys living life on the edge," Fleur explained. "And, well, she's quite well-off."
At the quizzical look on Harry's face, she decided to clarify further. "Let's just say she could probably purchase House Potter right now and still have plenty left in the bank."
Harry raised an eyebrow at that revelation. "And your father?"
"Giuseppe Zabini," Fleur responded.
"Zabini," Harry mused, the name triggering a memory. "I think there's a Zabini at school, in Slytherin, if I'm not mistaken."
"Blaise," Fleur replied with a scowl, "he's my mother's... companion in England. That... homme de compagnie."
Harry raised an eyebrow in curiosity. "So why are you a Delacour and not a..."
Fleur sniffed delicately and placed a hand over her chest. "I'm a veela. My mother is only interested in veela. Her other children grow up embracing their fathers' legacies. My father, Giuseppe, was an Auror in the Ministero della Magia of Italy and is currently the Italian Ambassador to France, which is how he met my mother."
Harry let out a low whistle. "Impressive," he remarked.
Fleur grinned. "It certainly sounds that way when I put it that, doesn't it? But in reality, I've had very little contact with him over the years."
Harry looked puzzled. "Why is that? Is it because he doesn't... you know..."
Fleur shook her head. "No, it's not like that," she murmured. "It's just that, well, getting too close to his own daughter tends to... excite him."
The revelation brought a touch of awkwardness to the conversation, and Fleur couldn't help but blush slightly at the candid admission. It was a topic not often discussed openly, especially with someone like Harry, but she appreciated the ease with which they could delve into personal matters.
The complexities of their lives, their entangled family histories, and the looming decisions they faced seemed to fade into the background as they shared these personal insights. The enigma that was Harry Potter continued to unravel in her eyes, revealing a man who carried the weight of his past and his future with equal measure.
Harry blushed furiously. "Ah, I see."
Fleur continued, "We do communicate through the Floo network from time to time, though."
Harry was still puzzled. "But if both your parents are well-off, why are you..."
"Fending off on a budget?" Fleur finished his sentence. "It's because I want to make my own way in the world."
Harry cleared his throat. "I can understand that. Honestly, all of this... it feels like it belongs to someone else's life."
Fleur raised an eyebrow, seeking clarification. "All of this?"
Harry pondered for a moment, then nodded. "You know, sitting in parlors, having casual conversations like this. I understand that my parents left me money, and Sirius doesn't exactly grasp the concept of responsible spending, but it wasn't always like this. The Dursleys made sure I earned my keep. Sometimes, they even..." He trailed off, realizing he had said too much.
Fleur nodded in understanding. "Yes," she replied quietly, "I do."
Unbeknownst to Harry, Fleur contemplated his situation. She had noticed a girl named Daphne Greengrass last year. In a House where everyone seemed to bend over backward to cater to the whims of the blond prat, Brago or something, she had been one of the few individuals content to have her meals in solitude, and she appeared genuinely disgruntled when Harry Potter was chosen as the fourth Champion. In retrospect, Fleur could acknowledge that the girl was objectively attractive, but she had previously considered her unimportant and uninteresting.
The complexity of their backgrounds and experiences was a reminder that, despite their circumstances, they were individuals shaped by their choices and desires. Fleur appreciated the openness in their conversation, where they could discuss both their privileges and their struggles without judgment.
The more she got to know Harry, the more she realized the depth of his character, far beyond the famous boy who lived. And in turn, Harry began to see that Fleur was more than just a veela with enchanting beauty. They were both products of their past, trying to find their own paths in a world filled with magic and mystery.
Yet, this unremarkable girl had done something that relatively few had managed. She had recognized the significance of Harry Potter. While their shared lineage might have initially sparked her interest, Fleur was convinced that every action taken by this 'Daphne Greengrass' was calculated and meticulously timed. She had used flirting to break the ice, engaged Harry in casual conversation on a shared interest—Quidditch, and executed a well-orchestrated combination of portraying herself as a damsel in distress, demonstrating pride, and expertly tapping into her knowledge of Harry's behavior. If nothing else, Daphne Greengrass's ability to pinpoint Harry's sensitivities served as a testament to her instincts in Fleur's estimation.
"Will you give it a fair shot?" Fleur asked, her curiosity evident.
Harry shrugged. "I don't really see an alternative at this point. But I'm not overly optimistic about it."
Fleur pressed further, her interest piqued. "But what if it does work out?"
It was strange, but she was oddly looking forward to this. From her limited interactions with Harry Potter, she had come to realize that he was, to quote his own words, "Fate's bitch." Unusual and perilous situations seemed to gravitate towards him, whether he was serving detention, participating in Quidditch, or even just visiting the gamekeeper. Yet, despite these circumstances, Harry possessed an innate ability to play hard to get and was completely devoid of pureblood bigotry. A lesser woman might have been envious of Daphne Greengrass, but Fleur... Fleur wanted to savor this challenge. The girl's frustration and jealousy, if it came to that, would be more satisfying than the finest elven wine. Especially when she realized that, no matter what she did, Harry Potter would forever belong to Fleur Delacour, not her.
Harry's response was thoughtful. "I don't know... I mean, she does want to marry me, to save herself and break this curse. It's all pretty new to me."
Fleur offered a reassuring smile. "Well, in case it doesn't work out, there are always other options available."
A year ago, she would have rather perished than utter such words. She had essentially conveyed her willingness to be there for him, even if things didn't pan out with Daphne.
Her. Fleur Delacour. As a potential rebound girl. Who would have thought?
"Like whom?" Harry challenged, his tone challenging and skeptical.
Fleur raised an elegant eyebrow and leaned forward, subtly drawing his attention to her cleavage. She could feel Harry's gaze momentarily drop below her neckline, and a subtle smile graced her lips. Harry feigned indifference, and she allowed him to maintain the pretense.
Their playful banter and the subtle tension between them continued to evolve, revealing the intriguing dynamics of their burgeoning relationship. Fleur, in her own way, had shown her willingness to be there for Harry, even as he navigated the complexities of his connection with Daphne Greengrass. The enigma that was Harry Potter, surrounded by intrigue and danger, remained a compelling puzzle that Fleur was determined to explore, one step at a time.
"Harry," she began slowly, her voice dripping with a seductive quality, "don't play the fool. It doesn't suit you."
He averted his gaze, trying to evade the conversation.
Fleur persisted, her curiosity getting the better of her. "I have to ask. Is there a reason you didn't take me up on my offer?"
Harry sighed, a touch of tension in his voice. "I did take you up on it. I used it to—"
Fleur reached out and gently touched his arm. She felt his raw desire coursing through her, evident in his gaze, the rigidity of his body, and the faint clenching of his fists. It was clear he wanted her, and a vivid image of him pinning her against the wall, taking her passionately right then and there, crossed her mind.
But then, just as quickly, the allure vanished. Fleur jerked her hand back, as if it had been scorched. "Merde! This always happens. Always!"
She noticed Harry watching her, but he didn't comment on her reaction.
"You know what I'm talking about, don't you?" she asked, her voice soft and tinged with vulnerability. "Is it... because of what I am? A veela?"
It was a question she had pondered repeatedly. Fleur Delacour had never been rejected in her life, and the very idea of being denied was an aberration to her. The truth was that the vast majority of humanity would gladly sacrifice their right arm for a night with a veela. No matter how alluring a witch might be, she could never compare to the irresistible, supernatural ecstasy that a veela could bestow upon their lover.
However, there were exceptions to this rule. Some individuals, ignorant about her kind, harbored fears that veelas were malevolent beings who might steal their souls during intense moments of passion. And to be perfectly honest, they weren't entirely wrong.
Harry took a deep breath, his eyes finally meeting hers. "Fleur, it's not about what you are. It's about... well, it's complicated."
Fleur's emotions were in turmoil. She had put herself out there, offering herself to him in a way she never had with anyone else, and his response had shattered her confidence. The vulnerability she rarely showed to anyone had been laid bare.
"Complicated?" she echoed, a hint of hurt in her voice.
Harry nodded, and his expression was a mixture of regret and something more profound. "There are... reasons I can't... indulge in those desires, Fleur. It's not you. It's me."
Fleur's heart ached at his words, and the complex web of emotions they had woven around each other seemed to grow even more intricate. The enigma of Harry Potter deepened, revealing layers she had only begun to explore, and she couldn't help but wonder what lay beneath the surface of his innermost thoughts and fears.
A veela's essence was to enchant their chosen prey and draw sustenance from them. Once they established a connection, they fed on their prey's emotions—lust, passion, joy, pleasure—growing more powerful with each feeding. Over time, their prey became so enraptured by them, so ensnared in their Allure, that they would do anything for them.
People like her mother were true masters of this art.
As was Fleur herself.
Fleur had always regarded her Allure as a force to be resisted, but now, she found herself in a unique situation where she wanted her Allure to work, and for once, it wasn't. She faced a person who was entirely immune to her charms, a man who stood beyond the reach of her power to captivate. It was ironic that she, a creature of seduction and enchantment who could effortlessly ensnare any heart, was now competing for the attention of the one man who was immune to her enthrallment.
It was driving her to the brink of frustration.
Harry shook his head, clearly conflicted.
Fleur wouldn't relent. "Then what is it?" she pressed. "I doubt you're still holding a grudge over my behavior last year. So, perhaps tall, blonde veela just aren't your type?"
Harry snorted in response. "I'd have to be a dead man for you not to be my type, Fleur. I'll admit, I was shocked to see you working at Gringotts. I... I thought you might find it beneath you to work for me. But you agreed, and you've been a better friend to me over the summer than Ron and Hermione. You believed in me, and trust me, I know you can have any guy you want. So when you made that offer... it felt like you were trying to..."
"To what?" Fleur asked, urging him to continue.
Harry's voice was tinged with frustration and vulnerability. "It felt like you were trying to use your Allure to make me want you, to force me into something I might not have been ready for."
Fleur was taken aback by his words, and the weight of his accusation settled upon her like a heavy shroud. Her allure was a part of her, a power she had long struggled to control and use responsibly. It was never her intention to manipulate or force anyone into anything they weren't comfortable with.
"Harry, I would never do that," she insisted, her eyes locked with his, her sincerity evident in her gaze. "My allure is a part of who I am, but it's not something I use to manipulate or deceive. I offered myself to you because I wanted to be close to you, to share something meaningful. It had nothing to do with trying to control you."
Harry's guarded expression slowly began to soften, and he appeared more open to her explanation. "I didn't mean to accuse you," he admitted. "I've just... I've been through a lot, and I'm not always sure who I can trust."
Fleur understood his hesitation, and a sense of compassion welled up within her. "I can't imagine the weight you carry, Harry. But know this: I believe in you, and I trust you. If you ever need someone to talk to, to confide in, I'm here for you, allure or not."
Their conversation had taken an unexpected turn, delving into the complexities of their connection and the challenges they both faced. Fleur's allure had always been a double-edged sword, a gift and a burden, and now, it seemed to be a topic that could bind or separate them, depending on how they navigated this delicate terrain.
Harry scowled, appearing more frustrated with himself than with her. "It felt like a transaction. I helped you in the tournament and during that attack, so you were repaying me for it, like it was some kind of trade."
Fleur could feel her clothes beginning to feel uncomfortably tight. She was exceedingly grateful that they were enclosed in a private cubicle. Her Allure was surging within her, compelling her to seize him right there, inside that small space, and have her way with him.
Instead, she inhaled slowly and composed herself. "I understand," she murmured, her disappointment barely concealed.
"I know you're a veela," Harry said quietly. "Sirius and Andi keep teasing me about it. I've heard enough in the past year to realize that people often objectify veela, but frankly, I appreciate you as Fleur Delacour. Not the veela, not the Beauxbatons champion, and certainly not a mere object of desire. Just Fleur."
Just Fleur. Those two simple words sent her heart racing. Fleur was an expert in the art of seduction, but when confronted with Harry's honest and heartfelt sentiments, she felt uncharacteristically overwhelmed. Her Allure surged, tempting her to take him, by force or enchantment, it didn't matter, so long as she had him.
But she resisted, understanding that Harry's words were a plea for her to see him as more than a conquest, as a person with his own desires, vulnerabilities, and emotions. The tension between them was palpable, the magnetic pull of her allure and Harry's innate resistance waging an internal battle.
Fleur's voice was husky with suppressed longing as she responded, "Harry, I'm not here to use you or repay any debts. I'm here because I want to be with you, to get to know you, and to share moments that are meaningful to both of us. I'm here as Fleur, not as a veela."
The cubicle seemed to shrink around them as they stood locked in this silent battle of desires, each trying to convey their true intentions and feelings without succumbing to the overwhelming allure that simmered beneath the surface. Their connection, built on trust and vulnerability, was a delicate dance, and the steps they took in that moment would shape the path of their budding relationship.
Their gazes locked, and in that moment, Fleur understood something profound about Harry. He was a man who had been profoundly scarred by life. No one could endure the trials he had faced without sustaining deep emotional wounds. Yet, he carried on with unwavering determination, despite the ceaseless conflict within his heart and mind. He would go to great lengths to protect those he held dear and yet willingly lay down his life to aid others. He possessed great power, capable of standing head and shoulders above all, a giant among men, and yet he remained content to dwell in the background, responding only when provoked by others. This quality resonated within her, stirring something she couldn't fully comprehend but deeply yearned for.
Fleur needed him. And that realization terrified her.
Like the distant horizon, Harry Potter represented something ever-present, both tantalizing and elusive. He symbolized a possibility that might forever remain just out of reach—a partnership that wouldn't end in destruction. A soul she could connect with, a person to grow old with, leading the life of a regular witch. Someone her inner predator would never consume.
And yet, there he was, seated before her.
Harry was a rarity, a treasure, and Fleur was unsure of how to proceed in this unique situation. He was immune to her Allure, yet had unhesitatingly signed his life away, believing it could save someone else's.
What should she do? Exclaim her undying love for him to dissuade him from leaving? Attempt to manipulate his hormones with seduction? Perhaps a suggestive display of her allure? He had turned down sexual advances earlier, but she sensed an attraction.
Or did she?
Her anxiety heightened.
What if she was wrong? What if her forwardness repelled him? Chances were he would shut himself off and withdraw. Her Allure urged her to claim him right then and there, but she wasn't prepared for the potential repercussions. For all she knew, he could ensure that she never had access to him again.
No. Acting impulsively would be perilous. She needed to play the long game.
For now.
The cubicle they were in seemed to grow smaller, the air charged with unspoken desires and the weight of their shared vulnerabilities. Fleur had gained insight into Harry's soul, and he had revealed to her a part of himself that few had seen. The enigma of Harry Potter was far more complex than she had initially realized, and their connection held the promise of something extraordinary, if they could navigate the treacherous waters of their emotions and desires.
Fleur closed her eyes, attempting to regain control over her tumultuous emotions. She took slow, deep breaths, firmly locking her inner demon back into its cage. The Allure resisted, snapping and growling, but Fleur persisted until her body had finally settled.
"Fleur?" Harry's concerned voice broke through. "Are you all right?"
"Huh? Oh, no, please excuse me," Fleur replied, opening her eyes and offering a playful grin. "I'm fine. I was just... thinking."
"About what?" Harry inquired.
"Oh, you know," she said, wearing a mischievous smile. "You're now betrothed to a delicate princess. I'm simply contemplating the best way to seduce you before your wedding."
Harry couldn't help but roll his eyes at her playful teasing. Fleur's ability to shift from profound, heartfelt conversations to light-hearted banter was a testament to her charm and adaptability. In this moment, it was a welcome relief from the intensity of their previous discussion.
"Well, I'll have to be on my guard, then," Harry quipped with a smirk. "I'll make sure not to fall under the enchantment of a certain veela."
Fleur chuckled, the tension of their previous conversation melting away. "Oh, Harry, you truly are a challenge, aren't you?"
"Guess I'm just full of surprises," he replied, a glint of humor in his eyes.
As they continued their conversation, the cubicle felt more spacious, and the connection between them, while still charged with a subtle undercurrent of desire, was also grounded in the warmth of their growing friendship. Fleur had navigated the complex territory of her Allure, and Harry had bared his inner struggles, forging a bond that was uniquely their own. Their journey together was far from over, and they were both learning to embrace the unexpected twists and turns it brought.
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