The marble floors of the corridor echoed with their footsteps as Harry and Fleur made their way toward the lifts, flanked by two French Aurors who had been assigned to escort them. The trial had ended less than an hour ago, and Harry stifled a smirk as he recalled Marcus Flint's final, knowing look before he was carted off like the cretin that he was.
"Monsieur Potter, Mademoiselle Delacour," one of the French Aurors said in accented English, "we will escort you to ze Floo network for your return to 'Ogwarts."
Harry nodded for the auror to lead the way. The day had been long, and he was looking forward to getting back to the castle. Beside him, Fleur walked gracefully, and he could see the tension in her shoulders beginning to ease now that justice had been served.
Harry had grown accustomed to the stares that followed him wherever he went, but today they seemed more intense, more curious. The trial had been public, after all, and everyone wanted to get a look at the Boy-Who-Lived who had played such a dramatic role in bringing down a pureblood heir.
"Ze attention, it does not bother you?" Fleur asked quietly, noticing his observation of their surroundings.
"You learn to live with it," Harry replied. "Though I imagine you understand the feeling."
Fleur's lips curved in a knowing smile. "Oui, being part Veela 'as its... complications. Though I suspect your burden is 'eavier than mine."
They were halfway across the atrium when a commotion near the lifts caught their attention. A group of people had gathered around someone who was speaking loudly, his voice echoing loudly and filled with anger.
"—disgrace to the wizarding world! My son condemned by foreign interference and Ministry incompetence!"
Harry felt his magic flare in recognition even before he saw the speaker. The voice belonged to Augustus Flint, and judging by the growing crowd around him, he was making quite the scene.
The French Aurors immediately stepped forward, their hands moving instinctively toward their wands. "Monsieur Potter, perhaps we should take an alternate route—"
"No," Harry said firmly, his eyes fixed on the older man who was now gesticulating wildly at anyone who would listen. "Let's see what he has to say."
As they approached, Augustus's words became clearer, and Harry felt his jaw clench at what he heard.
"—that foreign trollop seduced my boy, led him on like the half-breed whore she is, and when he tried to claim what she'd been offering, she cried assault! And that Potter brat, playing the hero for the cameras while destroying a pure-blood family!"
The crowd around Augustus was a mix of curious onlookers and those who seemed uncomfortable with his increasingly inflammatory rhetoric. Harry could see several Ministry officials trying to edge away from the confrontation, clearly not wanting to be associated with such public vitriol.
"That's quite enough," Harry's voice cut through Augustus's tirade like a blade.
The older man turned, his wild eyes focusing on Harry and immediately flashing with recognition and hatred. Augustus Flint was tall and imposing, with the same heavy features as his son but weathered by years of bitterness and entitlement. His expensive robes couldn't hide the slight tremor in his hands or the way his face had turned an unhealthy shade of red.
"YOU!" Augustus snarled, pointing an accusing finger at Harry. "This is all your doing! My son is rotting in Azkaban because of your lies and manipulations!"
The crowd that had gathered around Augustus began to disperse, sensing that the confrontation was about to escalate beyond mere shouting.
"Monsieur Flint," the lead French Auror commanded, his voice carrying the authority of international law enforcement, "you will keep your distance and moderate your language, or you will be detained."
Augustus barely spared the Aurors a glance, his attention fixed entirely on Harry and Fleur. "My son is guilty of nothing more than being young and foolish! But that foreign whore led him on, flaunted herself like the half-breed slut she is, and when a pure-blood wizard showed interest, she screamed assault!"
Harry felt his magic respond to the insults, a cold fury building in his chest that made the air around him shimmer slightly. But before he could speak, Fleur stepped forward with the regal bearing of French aristocracy.
"Your son," she said, her voice carrying the cultured authority of nobility, "attempted to use ze Imperius Curse on me with ze clear intent to commit rape. Ze evidence was overwhelming, ze magical signatures were confirmed, and 'is own extracted memories showed 'is guilt beyond question."
Her voice never rose, never lost its elegant control, but there was steel beneath the silk. "Per'aps if you 'ad raised 'im to understand zat women are not objects for 'is entertainment, 'e would not be facing ze Dementors right now."
Augustus's face turned purple with rage. "How dare you speak to me, you half-breed trollop! You think your foreign blood makes you special? You're nothing but a creature, a thing bred for the entertainment of real wizards!"
The words hung in the air like a curse, and Harry felt something cold and dangerous settle in his chest. The man wasn't just insulting Fleur—he was revealing the kind of pure-blood supremacist thinking that had driven the Death Eaters during the war.
"That's enough," Harry said, his voice deadly quiet as he stepped up beside Fleur. The temperature around them seemed to drop several degrees, and several nearby witches pulled their robes tighter around themselves. "Watch your mouth when you're speaking to a lady."
Augustus's eyes darted between Harry and the Aurors, clearly recognizing the threat in Harry's tone but too consumed with rage and humiliation to back down. "Lady? She's a half-breed creature! Her grandmother was a bloody bird, for Merlin's sake! And you—" He pointed at Harry again, his hand shaking with fury. "You think you're so clever, Potter. But I know what you are. I know what you did to my boy before this mockery of a trial."
"What I am," Harry replied, his voice carrying a promise of violence that made Augustus take an involuntary step back, "is someone who stops rapists from hurting innocent people. Your son got exactly what he deserved for attempting to use an Unforgivable Curse. Consider yourself lucky that's all that happened to him."
The implied threat in Harry's words was unmistakable, and Augustus's bravado cracked slightly as he seemed to remember exactly who he was confronting. This wasn't just any student—this was Harry bloody Potter.
"You destroyed my family," Augustus said, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "The Flint name has been respected for centuries, and you've destroyed it all for that... that thing."
Fleur's response was ice-cold perfection. "Ze only person who destroyed ze Flint name was ze Flint who decided to use Dark Magic to attempt rape. Your family's reputation died ze moment your son spoke ze words 'Imperio' with ze intent to 'arm an innocent woman."
She stepped closer to Augustus, her posture remaining graceful but somehow becoming more intimidating. "As for your comments about my 'eritage—my grandmother was not just any creature. She was Veela royalty, descended from lines zat trace back to ze founding of magical civilization. Your son thought to claim me like some common tavern wench, but 'e was attempting to assault a member of Veela nobility. Ze political implications alone could 'ave started a war between our governments."
Augustus seemed to process this information slowly, and Harry could see the moment when the man realized just how catastrophic his son's actions could have been on an international scale.
"But zen," Fleur continued with a sharp smile, "you would not understand such complications, would you? After all, your own... activities during ze last war did not exactly demonstrate political sophistication."
The color drained from Augustus's face at her words, and Harry saw fear flicker in the man's eyes for the first time. "I don't know what you're implying—"
"I am implying nothing," Fleur said smoothly. "I am simply observing zat ze apple does not fall far from ze tree. Your son learned 'is contempt for those 'e considered beneath 'im somewhere, non?"
The French Aurors were watching this exchange with interest, and so were the few British witches and wizards who had lingered. Harry saw them whispering amongst themselves and found himself impressed by Fleur's tactical thinking—she was systematically dismantling Augustus's position on multiple levels.
"My past has been examined and cleared by the Ministry," Augustus said, but his voice lacked conviction. "I was a victim of the Imperius Curse, compelled to actions I would never have taken willingly."
"Of course you were," Harry said dryly. "How convenient that so many Death Eaters were simply innocent victims of mind control."
Augustus's eyes snapped back to Harry, hatred burning bright again. "You think you're untouchable, Potter? You think your fame protects you? My family has connections, power that goes back generations. This isn't over—"
"Actually," Harry interrupted, his voice calm, "it is over. Your son is in Azkaban for life. Your family's political influence died with his conviction. And you..." Harry smiled, and there was something predatory in the expression that made Augustus take another step back. "You're nothing but an old man shouting in a public square because he can't accept that his son was a would-be rapist."
The truth of Harry's words hit Augustus like a physical blow, and for a moment the older man seemed to deflate. But then his anger flared again, burning away any reason and caution.
"This conversation is far from finished, Potter," he snarled, his voice carrying across the atrium and drawing even more attention. "My family will have satisfaction for this insult. The pure-blood families remember their debts, and they remember their enemies."
"Is zat a threat, Monsieur Flint?" one of the French Aurors asked, his wand now openly visible in his hand.
Augustus looked around, suddenly aware that dozens of Ministry workers, visitors, and officials were watching the confrontation with intense interest. Several quills were hovering nearby, undoubtedly recording every word for the next day's newspapers.
His political instincts finally overrode his rage as he realized how this scene would look in print. An elderly pure-blood supremacist, whose son had just been convicted of attempted rape, publicly threatening the Boy-Who-Lived and hurling slurs at a foreign tournament champion in the Ministry's main atrium.
"This conversation is finished," he said, straightening his robes with false dignity. But as he turned to leave, he couldn't resist one final parting shot. "But mark my words, Potter—justice delayed is not justice denied. My family has a long memory."
"So does mine," Harry replied quietly, and something in his tone made Augustus hesitate. "The difference is, mine tends to be more... proactive about collecting debts."
Augustus stalked away toward the lifts, his robes billowing dramatically behind him. The crowd began to disperse, though Harry could hear whispered conversations and see knowing looks being exchanged.
"Well," Fleur said once they were alone again with their escorts, "zat was illuminating."
"What a charming individual," Harry remarked dryly, watching Augustus disappear into a lift. "I can see where his brat got his winning personality."
Fleur's lips curved in an amused smile. "Oui, ze apple does not fall far from ze tree, as you English say. Though in zis case, ze entire orchard seems to be rotten to ze core."
"At least we know stupidity runs in the family," Harry replied, making her chuckle.
They resumed walking toward the lifts, the French Aurors maintaining their protective formation. Harry found himself impressed by how Fleur had handled the confrontation—she'd been dignified but cutting, refusing to be intimidated while striking verbally where it hurt the most.
"You didn't need me to defend you back there," he remarked as they walked closely enough that their hands brushed, the contact sending jolts through both.
"Non, I did not. But I appreciated ze gesture all ze same." Fleur glanced at him sideways. "You were quite... intimidating. I think you frightened 'im more than ze Aurors did."
"Good. He should be frightened."
"Do you think 'e will try to act on 'is threats?"
Harry considered the question seriously. "Augustus Flint is the type of man who needs to feel powerful, in control. His son's conviction was a public humiliation that stripped away his illusions of untouchability. Men like that either retreat completely or lash out desperately."
"And which do you think 'e will choose?"
"He'll lash out," Harry said with certainty. "The question is how and when."
Before Fleur could respond, they were approached by another figure—a young woman in Auror robes who looked to be in her early-to-mid-twenties. Harry's runes immediately prickled at the sight of her, a familiar urge trying to influence him. He immediately worked to suppress it.
The woman was exotic in her beauty, with a heart-shaped face framed by bubble-gum pink hair that shouldn't have worked but somehow did. Her Auror attire was professionally cut but couldn't hide her alluring figure, and there was something about her presence that set Harry's instincts on edge—not in a dangerous way, but in a way that made his control on his urges that much more necessary.
"Mr. Potter?" Her voice was warm but professional. "I'm Auror Tonks. My boss would like a word with you, if you don't mind."
Harry studied her face, forcing his expression to remain neutral despite the continued prickling of his runes. "A word about what, Auror Tonks?"
"She didn't specify, just said it was important and needed to be handled privately." Tonks glanced around the busy corridor. "Not really the place for that kind of conversation."
Harry's mind immediately went to Amelia Bones and their conversation in Dumbledore's office. The woman had been suspicious then, clearly knowing more than she'd let on. If she wanted another private conversation, it could mean anything—none of it particularly good for him.
However, refusing would likely make things worse.
"Alright," he said finally. "When and where?"
"Tomorrow evening at seven. I'll meet you in the atrium and escort you to the meeting."
"Understood."
"Good." Tonks gave him a smile. "I'll see you then."
She turned and they watched her go, his runes still prickling faintly at her presence.
"Interesting fashion choice," Fleur remarked once Tonks was out of earshot.
"That's one word for it," Harry muttered. "Come on, let's get back."
The French Aurors flanked them as they made their way to the lifts. The crowd had mostly dispersed after Augustus Flint's dramatic exit, but Harry could still feel curious stares following them. A few reporters lingered, their quills hovering hopefully, but the Aurors' presence kept them at bay.
"Vultures," one of the French Aurors muttered in accented English as they passed them.
"They smell blood in the water," Harry replied. "Augustus Flint's little performance gave them plenty to write about."
Fleur glanced at him sideways. "You seem very calm about ze whole situation."
"Should I be panicking?" Harry asked with a small smile. "Augustus Flint is a prick whose son just got convicted of attempted rape. His threats carry about as much weight as his moral authority."
"Which is to say, none at all," Fleur finished, a ghost of a smile on her lips.
The lift ride passed in silence, each of them lost in their own thoughts about the day's events. Harry found himself replaying the confrontation with Augustus. The man's rage had been genuine, but so had his fear when Fleur had hinted at his wartime activities. Men like Augustus were dangerous when cornered, but they were also predictable.
"Ze Floo network to 'Ogwarts," the lead French Auror announced, gesturing toward one of the ornate fireplaces that lined the chamber.
Harry grabbed a handful of Floo powder from the pot beside the fireplace and stepped inside. "Hogwarts, Headmaster's Office," he called clearly as he threw the powder into the flames.
The green fire roared to life with a whoosh that sent warm air rushing past his face. The familiar sensation of spinning and tumbling through the magical network enveloped him. Barely five seconds later, he stumbled out of Dumbledore's fireplace, somehow managing to remain on his feet and immediately stepping aside to make room for Fleur. She emerged moments later with considerably more grace, her robes barely disturbed by the journey. Even after Floo travel, she managed to look perfectly composed.
"Ah, Harry, Miss Delacour," Dumbledore's voice greeted them from behind his desk, where he was feeding Fawkes what appeared to be crystallized pineapple. "I trust the proceedings went as expected?"
The Headmaster looked tired, Harry noticed. The events of the past few days had clearly taken their toll on the older wizard, though his blue eyes still twinkled as usual.
"Justice was served," Harry replied simply, brushing soot from his sleeves.
"Indeed." Dumbledore set down the phoenix treat and turned his full attention to them. "Miss Delacour, I must once again express my deepest apologies for what occurred within these walls. Hogwarts has always prided itself on being a sanctuary for learning and growth, and the fact that you were endangered here is something I will not soon forget."
His voice was genuinely remorseful, and Harry could see that the incident had affected the Headmaster more deeply than he'd initially let on.
Fleur inclined her head gracefully. "Merci, 'Eadmaster Dumbledore. While ze circumstances were... unfortunate, I 'old no ill will toward 'Ogwarts or its students. Ze actions of one do not reflect upon ze many, non?"
"Your grace in this matter has been remarkable," Dumbledore said warmly, his eyes twinkling with genuine admiration. "I hope your remaining time at Hogwarts will be far more pleasant. The tournament still has much to offer, I believe."
"I am certain it will be," Fleur replied with a small smile.
-Break-
Harry walked down the path leading to the Beauxbatons carriage, taking his time as he enjoyed the cool evening air. The day had been eventful. As planned, Marcus Flint was condemned to life in Azkaban, and his father's had a huge public meltdown. He had a meeting arranged for the next evening with the head of the DMLE who seemed oddly interested in him for some reason.
However, it was this dinner invitation that had surprised him more than he cared to admit.
He recalled Daphne's expression when he'd told her about Fleur's invitation earlier that evening.
"Dinner with the French princess," she'd said, her tone carefully neutral. "How... interesting."
"It's just dinner, Daph."
"Is it?" She'd stood then, moving closer until she was directly in front of him. "Because last I checked, you were planning to make her your bitch. Or have you forgotten our little conversation?"
The crude words had sounded strange coming from Daphne's refined mouth, but the heat in her eyes had been unmistakable. Harry had pulled her close then, his hands settling on her waist.
"I haven't forgotten anything," he'd murmured against her ear. "But these things don't happen overnight. They require... finesse."
Daphne had shivered at his tone, but when she'd pulled back to look at him, her usual confidence was firmly in place. "Just make sure you keep your guard up. That bitch is slippery, and crazy."
Harry had kissed her then, firm and possessive, until she was breathless and clinging to his robes. When they'd broken apart, her cheeks were flushed and her breathing uneven.
"Trust me," he'd said, watching the way her pupils dilated. "I know exactly what I'm doing."
"Good," she'd managed, her voice slightly breathy. "Just... make sure you set the wheels in motion. The sooner this happens, the better."
Now, as he approached the elegant blue carriage, Harry couldn't help but smirk at the memory. Daphne might put on a show of casual indifference, but he knew her well enough to recognize the possessiveness beneath her words. She wanted Fleur brought to heel as much as he did, though for slightly different reasons.
The Beauxbatons carriage was impressive up close—larger than it appeared from a distance, with intricate silver details that shone in the moonlight. Warm light spilled from the windows, and Harry could see people moving about inside. As he climbed the steps to the entrance, the door opened before he could knock.
Fleur stood in the doorway, and Harry felt his runes prickle immediately in response to her presence. She'd changed from her formal trial robes into something that was both elegant and provocatively enticing—a deep blue dress that complemented her coloring and clung to her figure in all the right places. The neckline was modest by wizarding standards but still managed to draw attention, and the way the fabric moved as she breathed was almost hypnotic.
"'Arry," she said, her voice musical as she gave him a smile. "I was beginning to wonder if you 'ad changed your mind."
"Sorry I'm late," Harry replied, stepping closer. "I got held up talking with my friends."
Fleur's eyes sparkled with amusement. "Ah, oui. I imagine zey 'ad many questions about your dinner plans."
As she led him into the carriage, Harry saw the other students watching them. There was no hostility in their gazes—curiosity, certainly, but also respect. Several of the older students actually nodded at him as they passed, Harry returning with subtle nods of his own.
"You 'ave made quite ze impression," Fleur remarked, noticing the exchanges. "'Ow they see you 'as changed considerably since you saved me from Flint's assault."
Harry chuckled but said nothing, following her through the carriage's surprisingly spacious interior. The Beauxbatons students clearly lived well—the furnishings were elegant, the space well-appointed, and everything was as per the usual French refinement and taste.
Fleur led him to a private dining room that was smaller than the main area but looked perfect for an intimate dinner. A table had been set for two, with candles providing soft lighting.
"Please, sit," Fleur said, gesturing to one of the chairs.
Harry took the offered seat, noting how Fleur positioned herself across from him with the candles casting warm light across her features. The setting was undeniably romantic, and he believed that was entirely intentional on her part.
"I 'ope you do not mind zat I arranged for somezing... private," she said as plates of food appeared on the table. "Being seen dining together would 'ave caused quite ze stir, non?"
"Probably," Harry agreed. "I'm curious about why you wanted to have dinner in the first place."
Fleur smiled mysteriously. "All in good time, 'Arry. First, let us discuss zis afternoon's... entertainment."
"You mean Augustus Flint's public meltdown?"
"Oui." Fleur nodded. "Such a charming man."
Harry snorted.
"Though 'is threats seemed... personal," she continued as they ate.
Harry shrugged, cutting another piece of his meal. "Men like Augustus Flint have been making threats against other families for generations. It's what they do when they can't win through legitimate means."
"And 'ow do you usually respond to such threats?"
Harry's smile was sharp and cold. "I make sure they regret making them."
Fleur's breath hitched as she gazed at him, and Harry felt a faint brush of her allure against his shields. The allure was repelled with ease, but it triggered a sharp prickling in his runes, making his breath hitch.
"You know, 'Arry, zere are times when you remind me very much of ze dangerous men my grand-mère used to warn me about," Fleur said suggestively, her eyes lingering on his lips.
"Your grand-mère was a smart woman," Harry replied gruffly. "Though I'd argue that dangerous men are often the most useful ones to know."
"Useful, perhaps," Fleur said softly. "But also ze most... compelling."
Their eyes met, and Harry felt a jolt of electricity pass between them. There was an understanding in those blue depths, a recognition of shared darkness that went beyond mere attraction.
"You must be wondering why I asked you 'ere tonight," she said.
Harry leaned back in his chair, studying her face. "The thought had crossed my mind."
"I 'ave been... observing you," Fleur continued, her gaze steady and direct. "And I 'ave come to realize zat you are much more advanced than you should be. Both magically and in terms of maturity."
"Observing me? That's a dangerous thing to admit," Harry said, his tone carefully neutral.
Fleur's lips curved in a smile that was both apologetic and calculating. "Per'aps. But I find zat I must also admit somezing else—I seem to 'ave made a gross miscalculation when it comes to judging you."
Harry raised an eyebrow, interested despite himself. "How so?"
Fleur sighed. "My behavior on ze night of ze champions selection. 'Ow I disrespected you and was dismissive of you. I felt... enraged zat you 'ad insulted ze sanctity of ze Triwizard Tournament."
Harry chuckled lowly, amused. "That hasn't changed now either. If anything, it's become even more of an insult."
Fleur hummed thoughtfully, swirling the wine in her glass. "After ze scoring in ze First Task, I cannot entirely disagree with you."
She paused, taking another sip of wine before continuing. "I remained dismissive of you even after zat night, allowing my irritation to cloud my judgment. I disregarded even Madame Maxime when she told me about your exploits over ze years—ze Basilisk, ze dementors. I believed zey were tall tales you 'ad fabricated to gain attention or boost your fame."
Harry's chuckle was genuinely amused this time. "And now?"
"Now?" Fleur's voice changed, becoming low and throaty, and it that made Harry's runes prickle. "After observing you for a while, especially after your performance in ze First Task... I am no longer disillusioned."
Her voice grew huskier as she leaned forward slightly, her eyes fixing on his with an intensity that made the air between them seem to thicken. Harry felt his runes prickling even more as her veela allure wafted over him, spiking his arousal that he had to consciously work to control.
"Your ruthlessness," she continued in the same tone, her voice caressing his ears. "Ze way you planned Flint's downfall, used me in your scheme while ensuring I was safe... it was masterfully done."
Harry eyed her critically, noting the way her breathing had changed. There was a slight flush to her cheeks that had nothing to do with the wine. "I truly didn't expect you to take my manipulation in stride like this."
Fleur chuckled. "It is odd zat I am behaving like zis, non? After all, if I was to look at zis rationally, I should be irate at you for pulling such a stunt." She paused, her eyes meeting his. "But I am not."
Harry felt her allure growing stronger, and as he looked at her—really looked at her—he realized that her arousal was spiking even more. Yep, this woman was crazy. There couldn't be any other explanation. He had a feeling that things could turn out like this, but now, it was all but confirmed.
With a casual flick, Harry cleaned his hands with wandless magic, a display that Fleur didn't miss if the way her eyes widened slightly was any indication. He stood from his chair and began pacing slowly around the small dining room.
"I have a little theory that could explain it," he said confidently, and his voice made Fleur straighten in her chair.
"Oh?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "Do you really?"
Harry smirked, walking around the table until he came to a stop behind her chair. Fleur's breath hitched slightly as Harry stepped close, her head touching his abdomen as he boldly placed his hands on her shoulders, his thumbs rubbing over the bare skin exposed by her dress.
"I do," Harry said, his voice dropping low. "There are people in this world who act all snobbish and pretend they're above everyone else when in reality, they want to be treated a certain way."
He kneaded the knots in her shoulders, relaxing them. The runes prickled harder, and Harry continued, caressing and massaging her, feeling the warmth of her bare skin under his fingers.
Fleur's voice was husky when she spoke. "Go on."
Harry's hands drifted lower, now massaging her neck and upper chest with a touch that was both gentle and possessive. "People like that are kinky. They want to be used and treated like the very people they look down upon. Submissive masochism, it's called."
Fleur's breath hitched as he became bolder, his hands returning to massage her shoulders but this time adding a subtle sensation of his magic to his touch. She stayed silent, but Harry could feel the way her body was responding to his ministrations.
"It doesn't just happen with anyone though," Harry continued, his voice husky as his hands worked over her skin. "These people choose their person—who they want to treat them like that, even use them. It's about finding someone worthy of their submission, someone who can see through their facade and understand what they really need, while having the power to give it to them."
He could feel Fleur's growing state of arousal in the way her breathing had changed, the slight tremor in her body, and the heat radiating from her skin. Her allure was becoming stronger, but instead of trying to control him, it seemed to be responding to her desires, amplifying her need rather than projecting it.
"The psychology is fascinating," Harry murmured as he leaned down, his breath warm against her ear, making her shiver. "Someone who commands respect and fear from everyone else, who's used to being untouchable, developing an attraction to the one person who can see past all of that. Who recognizes what they really are underneath all the pretense."
Finally, Harry grabbed the back of her chair and turned it around, bringing them face to face. What he saw in her eyes confirmed everything he'd suspected—unbridled lust, barely contained need, and a sense of gratitude at being understood and having those forbidden desires acknowledged.
Harry's smirk widened. "You're a bitch in public. Everyone has seen it. There are many people who'd love nothing more than for you to be knocked off your fucking perch, to be reduced to the level of the very peasants you deem everyone else to be."
Instead of offending her, his crude words seemed to arouse her further, and Harry's smile became predatory. "I suspected something was off when you didn't react the way I expected after the attack. Your behavior since then has only confirmed it for me."
Fleur looked up at him challengingly, her breathing shallow and her pupils dilated with desire. Slowly, sensually, she rose to her feet until they were standing close enough that he could feel the heat radiating from her body.
"Congratulations," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, and it made Harry's runes flare with heat. "You 'ave figured it all out."
"It wasn't that hard," Harry replied, his voice equally low.
Fleur's eyes searched his face, as if memorizing every detail. "So what are you going to do about it now zat you know?"
Harry's smile was sharp and predatory as he eyed her up and down meaningfully. "Well, it seems you're lucky. I dig crazy chicks."
That did it. Fleur surged forward, her hands fisting on his collar as she smashed her lips against his, kissing him hard.
She was greedy. She was demanding. And Harry didn't hesitate for even a second, responding to the kiss immediately. He wrapped his arms around her waist, yanking her so close their bodies slammed together. Her soft curves pressed against him.
The kiss was all heat and passion. Her tongue slipped into his mouth, teasing, demanding, and he groaned, meeting her with the same fire, tasting her. Her allure hit him hard, not a gentle nudge but a full-on rush that made his skin tingle. He was acutely aware that he was already hard as rock, and it seemed so did Fleur, as she rubbed herself against his manhood, teasing him.
Meanwhile, her fingers twisted in his hair, pulling just enough to sting, and she kissed him deeper, her tongue tangling with his. Harry's hands moved fast, sliding down her back, and he grabbed her hips through her sheer dress. She moaned into his mouth and began rubbing herself even harder against him. The friction sent a bolt of heat straight through him, his arousal straining against her.
He pushed his hands up, finding the hot, bare skin of her back. His fingers traced her spine before they slipped lower, brushing the curve of her ass. Fleur gasped, breaking the kiss to drag her lips along his jaw, her breath scorching his skin. She nipped his neck, sharp enough to make him hiss, and he felt her smile against him.
"Feel good, 'Arry?" she murmured, her voice rough and dripping with want as she pushed him back, making him fall on the chair she'd vacated minutes ago. She smirked down at him before climbing into his lap, straddling him. Her pussy rested right over his manhood and she began rolling her hips against him.
Harry didn't answer with words. He grabbed her hips tighter, guiding her as she ground herself against his erection. Her thighs clamped around him, and he could feel every shift of her body, every little movement making him ache.
His hands roamed higher on her back, his fingers grazing the edge of her transparent bra strap, teasing the sensitive skin there. She shivered, pressing herself closer, her chest flush against his.
Their lips crashed together again, the kiss messy and desperate. Harry sucked on her lower lip, earning another soft moan from her. Her nails raked down his chest, catching on his shirt, and he groaned, pushing his tongue inside her mouth as he played with the clasp of her bra.
When they finally broke apart, both panting, Fleur's eyes were dark with lust and arousal. Her lips were swollen, red, and her hair was a sexy mess from his hands.
Harry's runes flared powerfully as her allure slammed against him. He could see the raw desire in those eyes of hers, the sheer hunger that he was sure was mirrored in his.
Words were no longer needed. They both knew where this was heading, what they both wanted, and instead of saying anything, he grabbed her hair in a fist, watching her eyes darken further at his rough treatment, and furiously slammed his lips against hers.
TBC.
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