HP: Monochrome

"And that's what happened," finished Harry Potter, "honestly, I still feel like it's all a stupid dream."

Yeah, Fleur hoped it was too. But it wasn't. Really, why was it that she had thought of playing the long game with him? Fleur struggled to remember the specific reason as she gave him a sheeping-looking Harry a rather aggrieved look over the edge of her sunglasses.

There were days when Fleur Delacour cursed herself for choosing to work for Harry Potter. This… was not one of those days. No, today she thought that she was being very considerate for not squeezing his life out with her own hands. Instead, she settled with glaring at him as she continued to shove increasingly large amounts of butterscotch into her system.

After the travesty at Florean's, going back there wasn't an option. At least, not the Trial which was barely two weeks away. At least Harry had the sense to choose a decent muggle ice-cream parlour. She had grown fond of these little tete-a-tetes with him, and it would have been horrible to end them. He had suggested having them at his family house, but somehow, it wasn't quite the same.

Even though it'd have a bed close by.

Or a couch.

Or a kitchen table.

Fleur pulled her head out of her panties and tried to give a most annoyed glare at her employer. "I'm no expert, but the Peverell bloodline embodies something to do with Death, as you say, while the Greengrass is…"

"Summer."

"Right," she drawled, "Unless you're talking of giving someone a heat stroke, is it just me that recognizes that the two are opposites?"

An amused smile crossed his face for a moment. "Actually, Joshua had two theories about it. The first considered my status as a Peverell Vessel. He thinks that the power of Unmaking had somehow, unmade the blood curse itself, and if not, then reduced it to a severely weakened state. He thinks that any children I might have with… erm, Daphne, would gain the same, and counter the blood curse."

"And the other?"

"It is true that I was recognized as a Greengrass in my ancestry test. And there is… evidence that I could be a Greengrass vessel. And in that case, it only makes it even better."

"But 'ow?" Fleur allowed incredulity to seep into her tone. "Life and Death cannot co-exist in one individual."

"He said something about Family Magics following a law of independent assortment, how they never mesh with other ordinary or Family magics. Then again, there's no precedence for opposing powers existing in a person. Honestly, I think he's grasping at straws."

"And what do you think of it?"

"What's to think? I'm a freak. Nothing new about it."

"Zut! Stop saying that."

"Well, I am."

Fleur grabbed his hands. "You. Will. Not. Call. Yourself. That."

"Paint it however you want, Fleur, a truth is a truth."

Fleur regarded him blankly. The way he had said it had been without inflection. It was a statement of fact, but it was all the more menacing for that. Every time she talked to him, almost without trying he seemed to remind her that there was so much about him that she didn't know. And at the same time, he was someone who could potentially be very dangerous.

But Fleur was a veela, and playing with fire was something natural for her. Why would Harry be any different?

But for now, she needed to change the topic.

"I thought you said Monsieur Black didn't want anything to do with that family. Instead, he gave you permission for what? Arm-holding?"

"Handfasting." Harry corrected her. "It's a Celtic practice. Kind of like a courtship agreement, only magically enforced. It isn't really followed anymore, since people are free to date whoever they want, but some of the families are really into it, for… securing deals, I think. If both parties find themselves compatible at the end of this period, Yule for us, they set a betrothal contract with a date for marriage."

Fleur stared at him for a moment, and then abruptly pushed her sunglasses to conceal her eyes. She was sure he'd read her thoughts otherwise.

"And… What if you don't find yourselves compatible?"

Harry frowned. "I'm not sure. Me marrying Daphne would be best for both of us, if we want to truly end this curse. But we don't want to end up in a loveless marriage either, which is why…"

Ah. Fleur smiled inwardly. So that's how it was.

"I imagine it was Monsieur Black that suggested 'And-fasting."

Harry shook his head. "Actually, it was Joshua's idea. Either way, he is helping me out in the trial. As my defence attorney. I didn't even know wizards had attorneys."

"Of course they do," she replied, "my maman 'as seven of them."

"...seven?"

"She likes living dangerously. And she's loaded."

At his look, she elaborated. "Let's just say she can afford to buy 'Ouse Potter right now and leave it at that."

"And your father?"

"Giuseppe Zabini."

"Zabini.." Harry murmured, the name ringing bells in his mind. "I think there's a Zabini at school. In Slytherin, I think."

"Blaise," she replied with a scowl. "He is Maman's... toy in England. That… putain."

"So why's it you're a Delacour and not a…"

Fleur sniffed, and daintily placed her hand over her breasts. "I'm veela. Maman is only interested in veela. The other children grow up with their fathers' legacies. Papa used to be an Auror in the Ministero della Magia of Italy, and is currently the Italian Ambassador to France, which is how he met Maman."

Harry whistled.

"Yeah," she grinned. "Sounds impressive when I put it like that. But I've had very little contact with him now."

"Why? Does he not… you know…?"

"No, no. Not like that," She murmured. "It's… I mean, you'd too, if just getting close to your daughter turned you on."

Harry went pink. "Ah."

"...Yes. We talk on the Floo from time to time."

"But if both your parents are loaded, why are you—?"

"Living off cheap meals? 'Cause I want to live on what I make."

Harry cleared his throat. "I can relate with that. Honestly, all of this… feels like something from someone else's life to me."

"All of this?"

"You know. Sitting in parlours. Chatting. This sort of thing. I get it my parents left me money and Sirius doesn't even know anything other than impulse shopping, but it wasn't always like this. The Dursleys always made me earn my keep, sometimes even…." He paused right there, probably realising he had spoken too much. "I mean, you know."

"Yes," Fleur replied, frowning to herself. "Yes, I do."

Unnoticed by him, Fleur thought about his situation. She had taken note of this 'Daphne Greengrass' girl last year. In the House where everyone and their mother was bending backwards to accommodate the whims of that blonde ponce Brago or something, she was perhaps one of the rare entities content to eat her own meals in silence, and seemed genuinely angry when Harry Potter had been crowned as the fourth Champion. In hindsight, she could admit that the girl was objectively attractive, but overall unimportant and uninteresting.

But this unremarkable girl had done something that relatively few had done. She had realised the importance of Harry Potter.

Sure it might have been their shared lineage that had kickstarted this interest, but Fleur was sure that every single one of this 'Daphne Greengrass's' actions were well-calculated and precisely timed. She had flirted to break the ice, engaged him in casual conversation over a common interest — Quidditch, and then performed a very well-orchestrated combination of damsel-in-distress, a demonstration of pride and well-timed use of her knowledge of Harry's behaviour. If nothing else, Daphne Greengrass's ability to identify Harry's buttons were good indicators of instinct in Fleur's book.

"Will you give it a fair shot?"

He shrugged. "I don't see an alternative. But I don't have very high hopes."

"What if it does work out?"

It was strange, but she was actually looking forward to this. From her limited interaction with Harry Potter, she knew that he was… to quote his own words, Fate's bitch. Things just happened around him. It didn't matter if he was attending detention or playing Quidditch or visiting the gamekeeper, weird and dangerous and exciting stuff just kept on happening to him without a break. At the same time, Harry appeared to be a natural at 'playing hard to get', and absolutely devoid of pureblood bigotry. A lesser woman would have probably gotten jealous of this Daphne Greengrass but Fleur…. Fleur wanted to enjoy this.

The girl's frustration and jealousy would be better than elven wine. Especially after she realised that no matter what she did, Harry Potter would always belong to Fleur Delacour. Not her.

"I don't know…" he murmured. "I mean, she does want to marry me, to save herself and break this curse. All of this… pretty new to me."

"Well, in case it doesn't work, there are always other options available."

A year ago, she'd have died before uttering these words. She had effectively told him that she'd be there for him, even if it didn't work out for him.

Her. Fleur Delacour. As a rebound girl. To think.

"Yeah? Like whom?" He challenged.

Fleur arched an eyebrow, pushed herself forward against the table. She felt Harry's eyes drop down below her neckline into her cleavage, and smiled. Harry pretended he hadn't done so, and she allowed the pretence.

"'Arry," she began slowly. "Don't play dumb. It doesn't suit you."

He looked away.

"I have to ask," she pressed. "Is there a reason you didn't take me up on my offer?"

"I did take you up on it. I used it to—"

Fleur reached out with her hand and touched his arm—

His tension flooded through her body. She could feel his raw need. From his gaze, from the rigidity of his body and the slight clenching of his fists, she knew that he wanted her. An image of him pinning her against the wall and having his way with her, taking her harshly and violently right then and there engulfed her—

—the Allure vanished.

Fleur jerked her hand back, as if burned by his touch.

Merde!. This always happens. Always!

She noticed him observing her. If he did notice her discomfort, he didn't comment on it.

"You know what I'm talking about. Is it… is it because of what I am? A veela?"

It was a question she had asked herself over and over. Fleur Delacour had never been rejected. For her, the very idea of being rejected was a perversity of the natural order. The truth was that the overwhelming majority of humankind were those that would give their right arm to be in bed with a veela. Regardless of how you sliced it, a witch, no matter how attractive, could never stand up to the tantalising, supernatural pleasure that a veela could give her lover.

Of course, there were exceptions to that rule. There were people that while, knew diddly about her race, feared them to be demons that would steal away their souls while in the throes of extreme passion. And to be fair, they were mostly right.

A veela's nature was to enchant her prey and feed on him or her. And once they got their claws on one, they formed a spiritual connection with them, feeding upon their emotions— lust, passion, joy, pleasure— and gaining strength from it. In time, their prey became so captivated with them, so trapped in their Allure, that they'd do anything for them.

People like her maman were masters of this technique.

As was she.

Fleur had always treated her Allure as something to fight against, but now, she was facing the novel situation when she wanted her Allure to work, but for once, it wasn't. For she was facing a person that was absolutely immune to her Allure. It was ironic that she, a creature of seduction and enchantment, who could turn any head she wanted, was vying for the attention of the one man that was beyond her power to enthral.

It drove her crazy.

Harry shook his head.

"Then?" Fleur pressed. "I doubt you're still angry at me for treating you badly last year. So maybe tall, blonde veela just aren't your type?"

Harry snorted. "I'd have to be a dead man for you to not be my type, Fleur. I'll admit I was shocked as hell seeing you working at Gringotts. I… I thought you'd… I don't know, think it's demeaning to work for me, but you agreed. And you've been a better friend to me over the summer than Ron and Hermione. You've… believed in me, and believe me, I know you can have any guy you want, so when you offered that… I felt like you were trying to…"

"To?"

Harry scowled, more at himself than at her. "It felt like a transaction. I helped you in the tournament, and then in that attack, so you were paying me back for it. Like it was a trade." Her clothes were starting to feel a little too tight. Fleur was extremely glad they were inside a private cubicle. There was no saying how the muggles would have reacted, given how her Allure was flaring. It wanted her to take him right there, inside that very cubicle, and have her way with him.

Instead she let out a slow breath. "I see."

"I know you're a veela. Sirius and Andi keep teasing me about you. I've heard enough during the last year to know that people treat veela like sex objects, but frankly, I like you as Fleur Delacour. Not the veela. Not the Beauxbatons champion, and certainly not a Melin-damned sex-toy. Just Fleur."

Just Fleur. Two simple words, but it was enough to set her heart racing. She knew seduction like the back of her hand, but when confronted by honest feelings, Fleur found herself unable to deal with this. Her Allure rose, urging her to take him, whether by force or beguilement, it didn't matter so long as she had him.

Their gaze extended.

Fleur knew Harry was damaged. No one ever went through all that he had and stayed unbroken. Sure he hid the cracks well, but they were there. He was resolute in his actions, despite the constant warring inside his heart and mind. He'd strike down everything that came for those he considered precious to him, and yet, he'd let himself be stricken down should that help someone else. He held great power, a power that could get him to stand head and shoulders above everyone else, a giant among men, and yet he stayed content to live on the sidelines, only choosing to react when actively confronted by others. It resonated within her, in a way she didn't understand, but in a way she needed.

Fleur needed him.

And it frightened her.

Like the horizon, Harry Potter represented something that was always present, beckoning her, taunting her of a possibility she might never reach, the idea of a partner that she wouldn't end up destroying in the process. A soul she could relate to, a person to grow old with like a normal witch. An entity that her inner predator would never devour.

And yet, here he was, sitting before him.

He was too rare, too precious, and Fleur didn't know what to do in this situation. This was a man that was immune to her Allure, and yet, had not hesitated to sign off his life because he thought it'd help save someone else's.

But what could she do? What should she do? Exclaim her undying love for him to stop him from leaving? Try to twist his hormones by flirting? Maybe a little show of skin? He had refused sex earlier, but she could tell he liked her.

Right?

Her panic grew higher.

What if she was wrong? What if… what if her forwardness was a turn-off? Chances were he'd close himself off and walk away. Her Allure wanted to make him hers right then and there, but she was unprepared for any consequences. For all she knew, he'd make sure she never had access to him ever again.

No. Acting out would be dangerous. She'd have to play the longer game.

For now.

Closing her eyes, she took long and deep breaths, shackling her inner demon back into its cage. The Allure snapped and growled, but Fleur forced it down, until her body had calmed down.

'Fleur?" Harry asked. "You okay?"

"Huh? Oh, no, pardon me. I'm fine. I was just… thinking."

"About what?"

"Oh you know," she gave him an evil-kitty smile. "You're chained to a frail princess now. I'm simply wondering how best to seduce you before you marry her."

Harry rolled his eyes.