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Daphne was gone when Harry woke up, and he was glad for it. The one time Fleur had met one of his conquests, she hadn't spoken to him for three days straight. He wanted to believe it was jealousy, but it could just as easily have been disgust.

As far as he could tell, Fleur didn't hook up with men. Nor did she date. She just attended classes, came home, did her coursework, slept, and repeated the cycle. His relentless teasing and her obsession with puzzles were the only constants in her routine.

This morning, the scent of freshly baked banana bread filled their shared flat, pulling him out of bed in just his boxers. It kept pulling him forward until he stood behind Fleur, who was bent over in an apron, pulling a tray of his favorite breakfast from the oven. He leaned in over her shoulder, inhaling the sweet aroma of banana bread, but more than that, her scent—floral and intoxicating, like lilies in bloom.

"Mmm," he moaned as his stomach rumbled.

She jumped, dropping the tray onto the stovetop with a loud clatter. Her hand flew to her chest, gripping her breast—or rather, her heart—as she turned, wide blue eyes wild with surprise. "You scared me!" she yelped.

"Sorry," he murmured, reaching for the banana bread.

She slapped his hand away. "You'll burn yourself."

"I'm used to touching hot things." He let his fingers trail up her bare arm, slow and deliberate. "See?" He held up the fingers that had just grazed her skin. "I'm fine."

Fleur blushed, her cheeks going pink, her Veela allure spiking for a fraction of a second before she reined it in.

"And didn't I tell you to start wearing clothes around me?" she scolded.

"I'm wearing boxers."

"And nothing else," she exhaled, exasperated.

"If I covered up, you'd have less to admire when you ogle me." The times he caught her looking at him were as precious as childhood memories. And just as dangerous. "Did you get any sleep last night?" he asked.

"Um, yes." She turned away, pulling out a knife to cut slices of bread. "Though... I thought I heard something."

Harry froze, his arm hovering mid-air as he reached for his coffee cup. Had she heard him moaning her name when he came? Did she know she was the only thing in his mind when he fucked other women? Did she want him and his twisted self out of her life? Had his plan fallen apart before it had even begun?

He coughed into his fist, steadying himself. "What do you think you heard?"

She spun around, planting her hands on her hips, cinching her apron tight at her waist. She looked directly into his eyes, something she rarely did after learning he practiced Legilimency. "Do you use Legilimency on the girls you sleep with?"

That was what she heard last night? Not him groaning her name? Thank fuck.

"The ones who want me to," he answered smoothly.

"So they... consent?"

Harry gaped at her. "I don't fucking rape people, Fleur."

Her expression collapsed into panic. "Oh no, I didn't mean that at all! I'm sorry, it came out wrong. I just..." She shifted awkwardly, staring down at the knife in her hands. "I wondered about it. How it works. In the bedroom."

"Some women like to be dominated," he said, stepping closer, watching the way she swallowed thickly as he invaded her space. "Handcuffs, whips, chains. I dominate with my mind and my words. I push them to surrender completely, to crave my control. I take them apart and put them back together in pleasure so overwhelming, they have no choice but to submit."

She nodded, turning away again. "Okay."

What? No. That wasn't enough. He wanted her attention back. He needed her eyes on him.

"Ask me anything you want, Fleur," he murmured, his voice dropping an octave, teasing. "I'll never hold back from you."

Except for the part where he wanted to fuck her senseless until her eyes glazed over just like they would under a spell. Except for the part where he was the villain in her story, hiding right under her nose.

"So..." she bit her lip, and his cock twitched. "It feels good to them?"

Harry tilted his head. "Yes. Very good."

He had perfected Legilimency for more than just control—it amplified every sensation, heightened every nerve. He could pull pleasure from the deepest part of the mind and make it unbearable, irresistible. He could make a woman beg with a single whisper. And he had done it more times than he cared to count.

She nodded again.

Damn, if only he were a Seer instead of a Legilimens.

"Do you want to be enchanted?" His voice was soft, but it was a challenge. That was the goal, after all. Ensnare her. Ruin her father.

"Wha-what? No," she shot back, too fast.

Harry smirked, stepping closer, pressing her back against the counter, boxing her in with his presence. "I could do it right now," he murmured. "I could slip into your mind, make your body obey me, Fleur. Would you like that?"

She sputtered, staring at him with wide eyes, but she didn't say no.

Her silence was all the confidence he needed. He leaned down, lips barely a breath away from her ear.

"Do you want to be my mindless little slut?"

Her jaw dropped, her breath caught, and her Veela magic flared—just for a second, just enough for him to feel the pull of her allure.

And then a knock echoed from the front door.

Gabrielle strolled in without waiting for an answer. "I smell banana bread!" She clapped her hands together in delight before stepping into the kitchen. But then she paused, taking in the sight of Harry, barely dressed in his boxers, and Fleur, trapped between him and the counter.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Gabrielle's voice was sharper than usual.

Harry couldn't afford to let her catch on. He couldn't let her create distance between him and Fleur. He needed to twist this in his favor.

"I came out because I smelled breakfast, and your sister started flirting with me," he said smoothly, stepping back, casual, easy. He clapped Gabrielle's hand in greeting like nothing had happened. "You need to control your sister, Gab. I'm not here to be ogled."

Gabrielle frowned, turning to Fleur. "Don't make him uncomfortable."

Fleur looked ready to murder him. "Maybe you should wear fucking clothes."

Harry grinned. She was so easy to rile up.

Before he could respond, his enchanted mirror flickered, alerting him to an incoming message. His muscles tensed when he saw the name.

Fucking Dudley.

He stepped back into his room, shutting the door before casting a quick Muffliato. Then he flicked his wand, accepting the message. "I know," he growled.

"Oh, do you know?" Dudley's voice dripped with irritation. "You were supposed to get started a week ago, and you still haven't done shit. Did you even love Aunt Fleur?"

Harry's grip tightened around his wand. "You're asking me if I loved my mother?"

"You're at that school—which we are all fucking paying for—to humiliate the Delacours. Starting with the girl. Get to it, or I will."

Dudley had lived with him most of their childhood, raised by his mother. His cousin's idea of revenge had been much bloodier. Harry's plan was the perfect middle ground.

"I'll implement the plan tonight."

"You fucking better."

"I will," Harry confirmed, sinking onto his bed, staring at the ceiling. "She'll only need a couple trances before she's exactly where I need her."

"Brainwash her for all I care. But make sure it hurts him," Dudley hissed.

Harry closed his eyes and exhaled.

Enough was enough. Fleur was a nice girl, but this wasn't about her.

This was about his mother. His family. His revenge.

"It won't just hurt him," Harry murmured, voice dark.

"It'll fucking kill him."

"Are you still obsessed with your roommate?" George asked as he jogged alongside Fleur through the cobbled pathways of Beauxbatons' grand campus. The evening air carried the scent of lavender and damp stone, the remnants of an earlier rainstorm. Their breaths came heavy as they sprinted up a sloping hill, wand holsters bouncing against their hips.

Fleur scoffed, her voice breathless but sharp. "Of course not. Why would you even ask that?"

"You researched his cologne and body wash," George reminded her, grinning as he kept pace.

"People don't just smell like sexy cucumbers," Fleur snapped. "It makes no sense." Even after discreetly using a Revelio charm on Harry's belongings, she had found no trace of a potion or spell that explained his signature scent.

"And you refuse to make a move because you two live together and he's your sister's friend?" George pressed, his words punctuated by quick breaths. Their jogging sessions had been a shared New Year's resolution, but only a month in, Fleur already regretted it.

Her attraction to Harry—her obsession, if she were being honest—wasn't just because of their living situation or his friendship with Gabrielle. "And because making a move requires the same sexual confidence that my last three exes made it very clear I lack."

George stumbled slightly, catching himself just in time. "Those guys were pricks."

"Big dick personalities, small dick realities," Fleur muttered. Still, all three of them, in their own patronizing ways, had said she was too 'pure.' That wasn't just an isolated comment. That was a fucking pattern. Maybe she *did* need to be more sexually open.

George threw his head back and laughed. "Don't listen to a damn thing they said."

But what if they were right? "I don't want to die alone."

George came to a full stop, and Fleur almost crashed into a hedgerow. "You are not dying alone, Fleur."

"I need to be less 'pure.'"

George folded his arms. "What the hell does that even mean?"

Fleur glanced away, heat creeping up her neck. "I haven't had sex in over a year. And there are... things I haven't tried. What if I meet my soulmate and he's all experienced and I'm just—" she made a vague gesture, "—not."

"A soulmate wouldn't give a damn about that," George said. Without warning, he wrapped his sweaty arms around her. Fleur nearly slipped out of his grasp. "Christ, you're only twenty. You're going to find someone, and you won't have to change a damn thing about yourself."

But what if he was wrong?

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pa treon .com(slash)lovelab (remove the space)