HP: Monochrome

With a resounding pop, Fleur Delacour appeared inside her living room with an exhausted Harry Potter in tow. Ignoring the proprieties, she gently deposited him on the bed, allowing him to sink right into the mattress. Seeing the blood oozing out of his abdomen, she quickly vanished off his shirt, and cast a quick Episkey at the site of injury.

It did nothing.

"That's weird," she mused, "the wound ought to have healed— 'Arry!" She grabbed his face, and gently slapped him on either cheek. His eyes opened at the contact, and he looked extremely exhausted and sleep-deprived. "'Arry, you've got to stay awake. 'Arry?"

Harry grunted, but did his best to follow.

"Merde!" Fleur quickly summoned a vial of pepper-up potion from her office bag. It was a must for someone working long hours on financial stuff. Opening Harry's mouth, she poured the pepper-up, sealing his lips tight, preventing him from regurgitating the potion out. Harry coughed but ultimately swallowed it, giving her a dirty look.

"Pepper-up," she explained.

'Doesn't work," he grunted, trying to push himself up, but she stopped him. "No wait, lie down. I've to check what hit you."

"Nothing hit me. I'm fine, just a bit exhausted."

"I'll be the judge of zat!" She snapped, casting a detection charm on the injury again. The Episkey had failed, that much was certain, given the rough scar forming right above his waist line. This wasn't the healing spell at work, but his own magic at work, accelerating his natural rejuvenation.

"Must be a dark hex," she mused, quickly going through the standard forensic detection spells. As an aspiring wardmaster, the knowledge of curse detection was integral to her profession. She wasn't sure why Harry thought the pepper-up wouldn't work, but at least he was awake and functional, and that's where it mattered. Sweeping her rosewood wand in elaborate movements, she kept casting one revealing spell after another in a sequential matrix. Forensic detection was as much an art as it was science, and the trick wasn't so much as to find the exact spell but to find the associated arithmantic equations that could be used to retrace its composition and—

Her jaw fell.

No, this couldn't be. This absolutely couldn't be.

Dispersing the spell chain, she recast them.

The results did not change.

"This… this iz impossible! Merde! I don't believe it," Fleur looked at him agape, "this— this has to be zong! Zere must be some erreur!"

"What is it?" Harry asked her, his face a curious mix of interest and dread. "Something wrong?"

Fleur gaped at him, then at the wound and then back at him. Wrong? Wrong? This was— this was—

"This says you've been hit with the Transmogrifian torture curse, 'Arry," she breathed, "but— but I zon't understand!"

"The Trans— what curse?"

"Transmogrifian torture," Fleur blabbed, "it was infamous in the Great War. Made by Vinda Rosier, Left Hand of Grindelwald. It is supposed to transfigure your blood into poison. 'Orrible way to die. This spell is declared Unforgivable in France."

"And not here?"

"The counter-curse needs to be applied within seconds or the victim…. Merde! 'Arry, how are you still alive?"

A flash of recognition was all she could garner from his face. Fleur had no way of proving it, but Harry knew, he knew why he survived the curse. Was this another Boy-Who-Lived phenomenon? He had survived the killing curse twice, and now this? Was Harry Potter immune to dark curses as well?

"Just my luck."

Fleur frowned and cast another assessment spell. It was true. The wound was healing, the bruises were reknitting and every single evidence of the curse was vanishing. She was sure that in a few minutes, she'd not even register the curse at all. Between his relative resistance to her Allure, his quick reaction during a fight and now this, she was beginning to create a picture of Harry Potter in her mind. One that was very different from the 'leetle boy' that had found himself as the Fourth Champion of the Triwizard tournament.

"What was…" Fleur reconsidered her words, "What was that all about? Those attackers?"

His face dissolved into a serious frown. "The perils of being associated with me. They are angry I survived at the cemetery, and that their family members are dead. But I didn't expect them to just attack me in broad daylight."

"You should— you need to report this to the DMLE."

"For what?" Harry challenged her. "I'm already facing a trial for something similar, remember? Fudge will probably paint this as another example of me being a gloryhound, attacking people in public just to gain attention." He paused for a moment. "I… I'd understand if you don't want to be the Potter Account Manager after this."

Fleur was so stunned by his words that she momentarily froze. Harry was probably speaking more, but then he realised that she wasn't listening.

"Fleur?"

She closed the gap in a second and stood in front of him, her Veela aura radiating with anger.

"What did you say to me?" She hissed.

Most men would be terrified of an enraged Veela bearing down on them. Or suffer an orgasm. Harry did nothing.

"I said that if you don't continue being my Account Manager, I will understand."

Fleur's eyes twitched. She… she wanted to slap him. It was true that she had originally hated the idea of being under Harry's employ. Between being tormented by nightmares of being cruciated, the realisation that the 'leetle boy' had saved her and won the tournament, and the aftermath that followed with her maman, all of that had made her feel nothing but disdain for him, as if he was to blame for her sufferings. Fleur knew she wasn't being rational, but none of that would have happened without the blasted boy's participation in the tournament.

But then she met him that day. At Florean's parlour.

Even ignoring his resistance to her Allure, one of the facts that had made him stand out even at the beginning, Harry had been a slightly chivalrous stranger who looked just as uncomfortable being thrust into this situation as herself. He had been decent at conversation, and Fleur could admit she had grown to enjoy that conversation. But she had already been quite stressed and in a bad mood, so maybe it was simply him not being another obnoxious pureblood that had made it likeable. His wealth and celebrity status aside, it was clear he was obviously way competent, brave and mature for his age. He had also been well-mannered in the subsequent meetings, and she had found his efforts at being a gentleman— a charmingly passe thing in this nation of bigoted idiots— to be charming enough to forgive the errors in their execution. And there was his power.

It was overwhelming. Fleur had thought that she was overexaggerating the effects of that Patronus because she had been inflicted with the cruciatus moments before, but seeing him fight moments ago cleared all doubts. That last spell he had used— it had been a shield, and yet, he had cast it like an offensive curse, and poured enough power to send four trained and obviously senior wizards flinging, and out of battle. Even when she was dishing out fire, her spells would register in the higher seventies at best. But he?

And he wasn't bad for the eyes either. Years of playing Quidditch had given him an athlete's body. For a moment, Fleur wondered how his lips would feel up close.

Her inner predator flexed its claws and licked its chops.

"And why do you think I'd do that?" She asked.

The blasted boy smiled charmingly at her. For the first time since meeting him in the summer, Fleur noticed how fake it looked.

"They attacked you because you were with me. Most people would take that as a sign of exit."

"I'm not most people, Monsieur Potter." She replied frostily.

His lips twitched and Fleur felt her sudden anger dissipate.

Her body began to heat up.

"If anything," she said, her voice growing husky, "you protected me. I don't know about most people, but women consider it an attractive trait."

"Hardly attractive when I was responsible for it in the first place," he muttered.

"True," she agreed, "but you did warn me about this before. That you have baggage. And I volunteered to accept this job and everything that came with the package. And you shielded me from a curse that would have killed me. This is the second time you've saved me from a terrible fate." her allure grew as she softly touched his arm. "People would say that demands a reward, non?"

"People say stupid things all the time."

She inched closer. "Still. I believe I owe it to you twice now. Perhaps there is some way I can repay you?"

"Uh," Harry looked distinctly uncomfortable. "You don't need to… you know, not like that. Well…" he continued to fumble, "that is, if that was what you were proposing…"

He wasn't wrong. Fleur had made the exact same proposition to him.

Had Fleur been more sober, she'd probably have acted differently. But with the latest events, the adrenaline rush from the fight for her life, and Harry's actions— all of that made her consider things in a different perspective.

Her Allure stirred at the prolonged skin contact. Her inner demon gleefully danced through her for a heartbeast or two, and as it did, Harry shivered, his heart beat hastened, and his pupils dilated. The Allure told her what it always did about her prey. He looked strong, and gentle, and kind, but deep inside, there were repressed desires that were far darker, desires that would make him an easy prey. Fingers tightening over his arm, feeling her body pressed against his— that was what he wanted. It was what prey always did. And Fleur could give that to him. She'd fulfil his desires, and take her fill. She'd leave her mark ripped into his mind and soul that he'd come to her willingly, eagerly, yearning to be taken again and again. She could only imagine smiling at him, as he'd slowly give more and more of himself away, until it'd be too late. That look of absolute betrayal, that cold, icy shiver of pure terror echoing through his very soul as she'd consume his life… it would be delicious…

….

—The Allure vanished.

Fleur was so shocked she stepped back. Her Allure had just vanished the moment it brushed against his magic. This wasn't extreme resistance, and wasn't any kind of spell or enchantment. It was… something else.

Not only had he resisted her active Allure, he had literally shut it down, pushing the corruption into the dark cave it had arisen from.

Fleur had never seen anything like this happen before. The predator in her wanted to scream and claim this wizard as hers in the most primitive and intimate manner, while the witch in her wanted to analyse just what had transpired. Harry had, not very long ago, survived the killing curse and most recently, the Transmogrifian torture curse. And now, he had caused her Allure to back down.

Was this… Did this have something to do with his unique brand of magic? The Peverell bloodline? Was that behind his resistance— no, his invincibility against Veela allure? It was fascinating just as much as it was frustrating. She had finally found someone worth her attention and he happened to be the one that made her Allure vanish into thin air.

But what to do? How did one proceed from here? Resistance to her allure was often a sought-after trait for Veela, but invincibility to her allure? What were the chances? And he just fell into her lap? Someone she could be with, someone that thought the world of her, and someone she wouldn't accidentally kill while feeding—

She shut her eyes.

"Fleur?"

She ignored his voice, her own mind spiralling into a maze of thoughts. The veela in her had already chosen her prey, and Fleur the witch had found something equally enthralling and impossible. How ironic that after dismissing him as a 'leetle boy' barely a year ago, she was not just working for him, but also gearing up to claim him as her mate. Her lover and her food. Hers.

"Well," she gave a throaty purr, "if you decide on encashing this debt later, I would not be averse to it."

Harry swallowed. "I, uh—"

Fleur was very interested in what he had to say but it was right then that something began to vibrate. And loudly. Fleur looked around and found the noise coming from Harry's robes. Harry must have realised it exactly then for he quickly fumbled through his robe and pulled out a shabby looking mirror with ornately designed edges, half of it rendered black because of a failed permanence charm.

She blinked. Why did Harry keep a mirror on his person?

"Sirius Black," he muttered, and the mirror flashed, and Monsieur Black's face was visible on the other side. Enchanted mirrors! So that was what they were. Fleur was a dab hand at enchanting but this was beyond her. She could whip up a protean-charm based messaging system at a whim, but direct audio-visual transmission across a pair of mirrors, even at this distance? This was Enchanting with a capital E.

"HARRY!" Fleur winced at the man's loud tone. "WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?"

Harry cringed at the man's loud volume, and looked at him sheepishly. "Sorry, uh, I'm with Fleur."

"I just heard about what happened at Diagon Alley. How are you? Did anything happen? Where are you two? Gringotts?"

"Uh, no," He looked distinctly uncomfortable. Fleur wondered why. "I'm at Fleur's place. I uh, got a little injured so she was treating me."

"Injured?" Sirius's voice gained a sharp edge. "Harry, just come through right now. Apparate back right now. Or better, send me the address and I'll come over right—"

"Sirius—"

"Now, Damn it."

"Erm, Monsieur Black?" Fleur tried and it got the man's attention. "Harry was injured and I've healed him. There is no need to worry."

"I'll be the judge of that."

Fleur winced at his sharp tone.

"Harry," Sirius said heatedly. "Don't try to downplay this. You were attacked in broad daylight. Get your head out of your arse and get your eyes on the world around you or you're going to…" The man trailed off. "Just come back right now."

He's afraid, Fleur realised. Sirius Black was acting like this because he was afraid for Harry. It was so different from the suave, casual man she had met back at the bank on the first day. Still, she didn't deem it proper to interrupt a second time.

"Sirius," Harry said in a level voice. "Don't worry. I'm fine. But Fleur is in a bit of a bind here, so I'll deal with this and get back shortly."

"I don't give a damn! Just get back right now! HARRY—"

"Sirius, please."

That shut the man up.

"...Fine," The man said after a moment of anxious, desperate silence. "But we're going to have words."

"Thanks," Harry gave him a lopsided grin. "Sorry for worrying you, Padfoot."

The man growled. "You can do that by apparating back."

Harry laughed as the mirror flashed out.

"What was that?" Fleur asked, as he put the mirror back into his pocket.

"That?" Harry answered, " —was Sirius being paranoid. He gets testy whenever I get into danger. Last time he left me alone, I got stuck with that wraith and the doxies, even though it was my bloody fault for walking up to that corridor in the first place. And now again…" He sighed. "Maybe Mcgonagall's right. Every time there's something messy going on, I'm always in the middle of it."

"Are you going to tell him?" She asked. At his raised eyebrow, she explained. "About everything?"

Harry frowned, looking at the floor.

"I will."

"Good."

Harry gave her a true smile this time, before he exhaled, and fell down on the couch.

"Do you want anything? I think I have some butterbeer left over in the fridge."

"Uh, no thanks," He looked around. "So… this is your home."

"It's tiny," She admitted, "but that's all I've got for now."

"I've lived in a cupboard for eleven years. Compared to that, this is great."

Boot cupboard. Turns out her deduction was right after all. The Boy-Who-Lived was mistreated by his muggle relatives! It was like the more she got to know about this vile country, the more she hated it. But there was no point in wasting the mood.

"Of course. I'm so glad my home's better than a boot cupboard."

Harry winced at her deadpan. "Uh sorry, didn't mean it that way."

Fleur chuckled. It was so easy to get him all flustered. And yet, he could evaporate her Allure without a thought and throw enough power to make even adult wizards wary of him. Harry Potter was a walking, breathing, frustrating mass of contradictions.

"It's a shithole. I know."

"A shithole you're about to ditch for my house."

"Nope."

"Yupp," Harry shot back. "You told me you owe me a thing or two right?"

Fleur narrowed her eyes. Something about that lopsided grin didn't feel fine to her. And then there was that random line he had said while on the call. Something about her being in a bind. Fleur's eyes widened in realisation but before she could refute, it was too late.

He better not—

"— so I want this. You'll be leaving this place and living at the Black manor."

"What? No way!"

"At least until we can get someplace better for you," he finished.

Fleur growled. Merde! The nerve of this boy! How dare he embarrass her like this and not the other way around? How dare he turn the tables against her? She had acknowledged the debt to simply craft a situation that would get him in bed with her. An appropriate excuse to make ends meet. But now, he had taken that and used it to trick her into doing something he wanted to do.

Fine! She was Fleur Delacour! She'd see how long he'd last against her wiles.

"Oh I see!" she brightly replied, pouring saccharine into her words. "Yes, yes, of course! Why use up a debt in a single moment of passion when you can have me, someone under your employ, living in close quarters. Yes, I believe the Black Manor would offer far better comforts for such a heated… climax, when it happens. I see now! Merlin, who knew Harry Potter, was so devious! Taking advantage of little ol' me like that!"

Harry rolled his eyes.