Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

To revel with a Veela	By : Valehtelija Category: Harry Potter AU/AR > Het - Male/Female Views: 112932 -:- Recommendations : 8 -:- Currently Reading : 8
Disclaimer: I do NOT own Harry Potter, or any of the characters, nor am I making any money from this story.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
1994
Sitting in the midst of students at the Ravenclaw table, on October 31st, waiting for the names of the champions to be drawn from the Goblet of Fire, Fleur's mind whirled this and that-a way, before coming to a conclusion: she didn't like Hogwarts.
While the ancient castle did possess a certain kind of presence, majesty if you will, it was sorely lacking in many other ways.
For one, comfort. She couldn't recall when was the last time she'd felt a chill come upon her when wandering through her school, yet here in Hogwarts a cold breeze seemed to permeate everywhere. It didn't matter if she was crossing the treshold from the outside and into the Great Hall or whether she went up towards the library, across those silly moving staircases - and really, those alone were a life hazzard even for witches and wizards - there would always be a near-tangible atmosphere of winter, despite it still being very much autumn. Whereas in Beauxbatons she could have easily made her way in nothing more than one of her night-gowns, thin and transparent, and feel no shiver whatsoever, in Hogwarts, well..
Then there was the food, so heavy and nauseating, these Englishmen were so barbaric that they still used House Elves, who could never even begin to compare to human chefs and the delicacies they could bring into existence. Perhaps that is why they kept using these pathetic creatures? Because they never tasted anything better? In the end, it mattered little to Fleur.
It wasn't the cold, nor the food, which made her miss dear Beauxbatons so much.
No, no, the cause for quite a few grumpy nights had been the boys of Hogwarts.
Back home, she had her pickings, to put it bluntly. Though she was far from being the only witch there of Veela-mixed heritage, she was, and this was no self-deluded ego talking, quite simply the best of the whole lot. She was gorgeous. Beautiful. Sexy.
She knew it and she cared not one whit about flaunting or using it at her whimsy. She was a heartbreaker, amongst other things. With her long, spun white-gold hair, pouty and pink lips, her more than ample breasts, long pale legs, and overall a willowy, but shapely, figure, who in their right mind could, or even would, resist?
She still remembered, with fondness, her first conquest: that silly looking boy who'd just started at Beauxbatons - Jacque - while she was going back for her fourth year. It was a quirk, a slip in the mood or something like that, that made her decide he would be it. It was the thrill of the hunt that she loved best about it, plying the boy subtly, teaching him do all those lovely things with his fingers and tongue, gradually easing him into more and more debauchery, until he was wholly hers. Or so she had thought. She had not initially thought that her adventures with the boy would lead him to go astray. Though their relationship was a closely guarded secret, at Fleur's request of course, that did not allow him to go out and seek his pleasure from others. Fleur's fury was a terrible thing to behold, and the boy's humiliation remained a vivid memory in everyone's mind.
After Jacque came only two more: Jean and Pierre. And those two lasted exactly one school year each, relationships she severed of her own accord, rather than dwell in drudgery and anticipation of imminent betrayal. In a way, it was better that she acted like that, they had found pleasure with one another, and that pleasure ended eventually, as all things must.
For her seventh year, she actively planned on snatching one particular third-year away from his negligent girlfriend, but then... then this damnable Tri-Wizard Tournament matter had been brought up before the whole of Beauxbatons, and of course she was one of the best and brightest, and of course it was expected she would participate, and of course her refusal to go had been ignored. An opportunity of a lifetime, Madam Maxime had said. Fleur cared nothing for it.
All the same, her plans had been spoiled, what with the encouragement of her parents, and the somewhat infectious joy from little Gabrielle as well, and she had found herself in a bit of a dry spell or two. Amy and Dannielle, her beautiful and faithful friends, had done their best to help her out, but even that had its limits before the Veela part of her reared its ugly head and demanded more than those pitiful offerings. It demanded submission. It demanded adulation. It demanded carnal indulgance.
All else could burn to cinders, so long as it had its due.
And Fleur was not one to deny herself for too long. The only reason, in fact, that she had not approached one of the boys from Beauxbatons was quite simple: they were too old and already set in their ways, leaning towards unyielding, rather than pliable.
And the boys of Hogwarts? Merde. They were so... so bland! She couldn't, not for the life of her, understand why the whole damnable country and its inhabitants were so bleak in demeanor and appearance. Everything seemed to be so subdued as to lack any passion, any heat, and grace or beauty. If there was beauty, it was hidden beneath a thick veneer of banality.
Oh yes, for certain, their witches liked to pretty themselves up, more so now that they had other prospects other than their own British wizards to entertain, but that was to be expected. Why had their boys not done the same as their girls? Had they cared nothing for all the foreign witches that might come to Hogwarts? Whatever their reasons, it frustrated her.
"Easy there now, who ruffled your feathers so much?"
Fleur turned her head slightly to the left, before she replied, bristled, "No one, and that is the problem," in the same low tone.
Her brunette friend instantly started sporting a grin, pearly white, even teeth in full display, while her green eyes glimmered with mischief... and more. "Oooh, Fleur, is that pent up passion I hear in your tight tone?" She had wicked things on her mind.
To reply to that, Fleur leaned closer to her friend, mouth to ear. "Do not tempt me, or I will have your hide later on."
Amy's breathing grew a tad more laboured as she resisted the urge to lean her cheek against Fleur's. "And who is to say that I would not enjoy it?" Her reply tickled Fleur's earlobe and the French witch subdued a growl in her throat that threatened to rise to the fore. Amy was always the more adventurous of the two, but even she ought to restrain herself in front of so many.
"You would, you bitch," said Fleur before her teeth grazed against the shell of Amy's ear, a low purr inflecting her words.
Amy's cheeks flushed with small tinges of red as she slowly backed away before a complete loss of control happened. It was always that way, Fleur knew just what button to push, knew just the right amount of Allure to apply, and Amy's underwear would always be slightly more damper than it usually was in her presence. It wasn't a bad thing altogether, but usually she had Dannielle to help her in teasing Fleur. Usually. Now though, Dannielle was busy pretending to be completely ignorant of the English language and made one of the older Ravenclaw boys pantomime much of what he was trying to say. An amusing sight perhaps, but not without purpose. Dannielle never did anything solely for one reason alone. It would be a waste of her time.
"So," said Amy, "whom do you think the Goblet will choose?"
Fleur contemplated for a few moments. "For Durmstrang? Krum, definitely. Look at their miserable lot. Most of the other students seem more like support structure, should the boy falter, than competitors and I haven't heard of anyone else from Durmstrang, other than him, submitting their name into the Goblet." She'd heard the stories, many others had as well, about how the boy's talent wasn't solely in Quidditch. After all, Durmstrang did incorporate the Dark Arts in their curicculum. Who knew what secret talents and skills the perpetually scowling Bulgarian Seeker kept close to his chest?
"And Hogwarts?"
Fleur shrugged, taking a few widely cast glances at all four of the tables in the Great Hall. "Who knows? None of them exactly stand out. I can't recall hearing about any prodigious student from Hogwarts in all my years at Beauxbatons. Do you?"
Amy almost shook her head in reply, but then remembered something. "Say, doesn't that boy go to Hogwarts?"
Fleur was confused. "What boy?"
Amy came closer to Fleur, as though to whisper of some nefarious undertaking. "You know, Harry Potter."
"Isn't he a bit too young for Hogwarts?"
Amy did shake her head now. "No, I think he's here now. Not sure what year he'd be in though. We could always ask."
This time it was Fleur that shook her head in response. "No reason to do so though, he would be just a little boy, and most likely his fame is exaggerated by the Ministry and the Hogwarts headmaster for their own gain. Leave it be."
"Fine," said Amy, thought a bit insincerely. Fleur might not have cared for gossip all that much, but Amy gloried in it. Who knows, maybe the famous Boy-Who-Lived would be something she could distract herself with while Fleur brooded and sulked when she had her name drawn from the Goblet. And that was going to happen, Amy had no doubt about it. She might have went on to poke a bit more at Fleur for fun, to divert her from thinking too much, but Dannielle chose that moment to arrive to the rescue, not caring in the least as she shoved several Beauxbatons students to make room for herself at Fleur's side.
"Took you long enough. Had your fun, Danni?" Fleur inquired.
"Yes, fun indeed," said Dannielle as she bit her lower lip for a moment, sky-blue eyes glinting.
"No," Amy mock-scolded her, even as she tried to contain her laughter, "tell me you didn't."
Dannielle pretended to be offended and thew a good portion of her red hair behind her back, rather than let it obscure her face. "Don't be silly, of course I didn't." Her smile had turned positively feline. "Well, not yet, at least. He seemed keen on making a fool of himself, so who knows... he might be game."
Fleur restrained herself from saying anything for the moment, not wanting the exchange of words with vague meanings between her two friends to end, not wanting to bring the spotlight back to her, just as this Tri-Wizard Tournament surely would end up doing eventually. And what would she do then? How would she go about satiating her own hunger and needs when everyone would be stalking her every move? It would be near impossible, and though she did like her fair share of challenges, that might prove a bit too much. Her reliance on Amy and Danni could help her only so much and though they each had their own rooms in the Beauxbatons carriage, it still wasn't uncommon for anyone to try and take a gander inside of them while occupied. Someone learning the specifics of the friendship shared between the three witches was not a desirable outcome.
And oh how they would react if they knew... would it be with scorn? Or envy? In truth, she'd prefer the former. The latter might spur them on to have a go for any of the three witches, and since the attempt would assuredly end in failure, word would spread of what they did, if only from misguided malice's sake. That was the last thing they needed.
Bah, those thoughts only distracted her further and further. She shook them off with an internal shake of her head and focused back on listening to the chatter and murmur in the Great Hall. Her mind took in the fact that the plates with food and glasses with beverage had all vanished from the tables in the Great Hall. Dumbledore himself had risen from his seat at the staff table and soon stood at the Goblet of Fire. He went on about how soon enough the champions would be chosen and if everyone would stay quiet. Fat chance of that, Fleur thought to herself.
The Great Hall descended into semi-darkness. With one sweep of his wand, Dumbledore had extinguished the candles and lanterns and all those carved pumpkin-lights, the only strong source of light being the Goblet's blue flames.
And then it happened.
The flames turned red, sparks shot from the edges of the Goblet and a charred piece of parchment fluttered out of it.
With reflexes bellying his age, Dumbledore caught it in mid-air and held it arm's length, so as to read it by the light of flames.
"The Champion for Durmstrang," his voice echoed clearly across the vastness of the hall, "will be Viktor Krum!"
Predictable. Fleur rolled her eyes and both Amy and Danni hid their smiles behind their hands as the applause from the Durmstrang students, and the Slytherin table, roared like a storm. The bulky Bulgarian Seeker still scowled, as though he had found a Flobberworm in his drink and was not actually chosen for the tournament.
Perhaps he was more similar, in certain ways, to Fleur than she initially thought?
The elderly wizard directed the Durmstrang champion to the door behind the staff table and soon enough the applause lessened, the flames lining the edge of the Goblet turning red once more, expelling yet another charred piece of parchment.
Even before the old man said it, she knew it. Knew it in her bones. Knew it in her magic.
"The Champion for Beauxbatons," said Dumbledore, voice still as strong, "is Fleur Delacour!"
Of course they cheered. Everyone cheered. The boys more so than the girls. Well, not all the girls at least. She knew Amy and Dannielle were sincere in their cheer for her, whereas the others... She resisted looking around to see who among the students of her school had just burst into sobbing, it was pathethic enough as it was. After all, she had an image to maintain. Grace, elegance. One-two-three step, one-two-three step, smile, bow your head and out the Hall and through the door.
All noise from the outside vanished once she closed the door behind her.

Inside the room, the Durmstrang champion was almost as still as a statue, still scowling, standing by the only fireplace in the room, his features illuminated, and made more harsher, by the flames' light. He paid no heed to her entry save for a single glance in her direction. She gladly repaid the favor. The less time spent with the brute of a boy, the better. Only the matter of the Hogwarts champion remained before she could set off to the Beauxbatons carriage and the comfort of her own room.
By the time the door opened anew, she was sitting down in one of the more gaudier, yet comfortable, looking back-chairs.
The Hogwarts champion was... disappointing. As she predicted, yet again. Save for some slight differentiation in the colors on the trim of his robes, and the badge upon his chest, he really didn't stand out all that much from the rest. Maybe, just maybe, had she been the type of witch that oggled and drooled after this type, she might have considered him somewhat handsome.
But the grin that came to his face upon seeing Fleur and Krum came too easily, too sincere, and she loathed him for it. He also settled near the fire, though unlike Krum who leaned onto the mantlepiece, he stood a bit of a distance away, his hands behind his back. He gave Fleur yet another smile, and she saw a bit of that familiar glaze come over his eyes before he shook it off.
Pathetic.
Well, at least the competition wouldn't be much, though she'd have more cause to watch out for Krum than this other boy.
Just when her thoughts were going to turn towards the judges and when they were going to make an appearance, the doors opened again, but the one who entered was not a judge, as she hoped. In came another boy, smaller than the rest. She gave him a furtive glance, taking note of his glasses, the messy hair and the awkward way he shuffled deeper into the room.
She got up from her chair and stepped closer to the boy, reluctance in his posture clear to see. He seemed vaguely familiar.
Fleur looked back at the other two champions and saw them standing still, perfectly content to let the boy linger in the room.
"What is it?" Fleur asked, in English. Her accent was unfortunately thick, having learned English with a number of variable Linguistics Charms, but she could do little about it right now to correct it. "Do zey want want us back in the Hall?"
But before the boy could answer, the door opened yet again. This time it was a judge indeed. He, she could not recall his name, grabbed the boy by his arm and led him forward towards her and the other champions, mumbling something from excitement. When he came to in front of the three of them, who were facing the man fully now, he released the boy.
"Incredible! Absolutely extraordinary! Gentlemen, lady," he tipped his head slightly in Fleur's direction, "may I introduce - however unexpected and unlikely it may be - the fourth Tri-Wizard champion!"
No applause welcomed that proclamation. Krum's face darkened, turning from brooding to scowling yet again. The Hogwarts champion seemed nonplussed by the judge's statement, while Fleur... well, she smiled. What else could she do?
"Oh vairy funny joke, Meester..."
"Bagman, Ludo Bagman, Miss Delacour."
"Meester Bagman," she flashed her pearly whites in a smile.
"I can assure you, this is no joke, my dear lady. Harry's name had come out of the Goblet of Fire just moments ago!"
All three of the champions turned their gazes fully towards the boy now. Fleur's alone would have scorched the ground if it could have done so without the aid of a wand or her Veela heritage. She quickly took stock of the boy and with no small amount of contempt said, "But evidently zair ’as been a mistake, 'e cannot compete. 'e is too young."
“Well … it is amazing,” said Bagman. “But, as you know, the age restriction was only imposed this year as an extra safety measure. And as his name’s come out of the goblet … I mean, I don’t think there can be any ducking out at this stage. … It’s down in the rules, you’re obliged … Harry will just have to do the best he —"
The other judges stormed into the room, along with one other, very ugly looking, man with a big hooked nose and greasy hair.
Fleur's skin crawled at the sight of him, and it didn't help ease the outrage she felt at the moment. A fourth Tri-Wizard champion? Must they make a mockery of a tournament that she was dragged across the sea for? A tournament in which she wanted no part whatsoever but was forced to participate all the same? No, she would not allow it.
She strode immediately towards her headmistress. "Madame Maxime!" said Fleur, still in English, still with that abominable accent. "Zey are saying zat zis little boy is to compete also!"
From then on, it descended into a small conflagaration of chaos. Accusations flew, accusations of incompetence thrown at the Hogwarts headmaster, accuastion quelled in the next moment, then some more suspicions thrown out from the ugly man at the boy, and so on. It might have gone on past morning had the boy not acted out.
"I didn't do it!" He turned towards his headmaster. "Professor Dumbledore, I swear I didn't put my name in the Goblet."
Whereas the others might have pressed on to make the boy crack under the weight of accusations, the elderly wizard went for a calmer approach, and laid a hand against his shoulder. He then went on to ask the boy, calmly, about how his name might have ended up in the Goblet, let alone how it had been drawn out as the fourth champion. The boy kept protesting, saying he wanted no part of the tournament. A bold-faced lie, no doubt.
In the meantime, while the impromptu interrogation was ongoing, another man joined them. If she thought that the greasy-haired man was ugly, then this one was positively hideous with his scarred face, gouges everywhere, a fake eye, a fake leg by the looks of it as well and Morgana-knows-only how many other deformities that they couldn't see beneath his robes.
He too joined in the interrogation and kept bringing up a point how the boy hadn't had a chance to complain about anything, and despite everything, despite Fleur herself loathing having to participate, she loathed that others, others who were lesser than her, would pretend that they wanted nothing of greatness or fame.
In a burst of words, a foot stamping down on the ground, Fleur said, "Why should ’e complain? ’e ’as ze chance to compete, ’asn’t ’e? We ’ave all been ’oping to be chosen for weeks and weeks!" A lie, but fitting at the moment, one she had no second thought about uttering. "Ze honor for our schools! A thousand Galleons in prize money — zis is a chance many would die for!"
"Maybe someone’s hoping Potter is going to die for it," the scarred man growled out.
And then it clicked for her.
Bagman had called him 'Harry' when he first brought him to the other champions. And this man called him 'Potter'.
Fleur once more took stock of the boy. Little she called him, and little he was, but then again there seemed to be a number of years of differences between them. He almost seemed on the verge of being afraid, yet refused to show it, his face morphing from irritation to relief to anger, depending on who spoke and what they spoke of. The last of which, anger, showed only in the eyes, which were so very green and bright in the fire's light, and only when those eyes looked upon her. It also revealed to her why he'd seemed familiar when he entered the room first: he had been the same boy from whom she took the bouillabaisse.
Fleur almost smirked at the boy, the need to taunt him growing within, to see how he would deal with being humiliated.
She could almost taste it on the tip of her tongue, the little boy's rage, a flame in his gut. It was building up, slowly, but surely.
Right when she opened her mouth to insult the boy yet again, to see the ember of anger spark anew, it all came to an end.
The boy would compete, the judges said, no matter how unwilling he may seem to be.
And Fleur thought that maybe, just maybe, this year at Hogwarts wouldn't entirely be a waste.

After the matter of the fourth champion had been dealt with, Fleur had gone back to the Ravenclaw table, collected her friends and they retreated back to the Beauxbatons carriage and the privacy of Fleur's room. While Amy and Danni lounged on the bed, lying on their backs, opposite one another, Fleur was very carefully divesting herself of the powder-blue robes, the scarf, the hat, and all the underwear she wore underneath the robes.
"Go on, what was he like?"
"What was who like?"
Fleur moved to the left of the mirror, the pillow flying through the air missing her by a narrow margin.
"Don't be such a tease, you know who: Harry Potter."
"He is just a little boy, Amy. I don't know what you're really expecting me to say here. I've barely looked at him."
"Liar," said Dannielle.
It felt good to push all of that fabric away from her skin, giving it room and air to breathe properly. That and she did take a bit of pleasure from strutting around in her birthday suit. Then again, why wouldn't she? She had plenty to admire, from her teardrop-shaped, hand-filling breasts, the perked up pink nipples laying on top of them, her flat and tight tummy, the curve of her hips, the firmness of her derrière, the smoothness of the mound between her legs... everything was just perfect.
And here, in this private sanctum of hers, she could finally let loose.
Amy and Danielle felt it keenly, as they did so many times before. The Allure washed over them, reinvigorated them with energy, energy better spent in ways other than lazying about on the bed. They too soon joined Fleur in her choice of dressing.

Though both of them would be called beautiful by any boy or man who saw them, they knew they would never compare to Fleur. Her beauty, her grace, the sheer etherealness of her presence, would always elevate her above the crowds. As it should be. But among the more common rabble, among those who were not like Fleur? They were stunning.
Dannielle's breasts were not at all like Fleur's. They were bigger, for one, and while for now they still defied that wretched enemy of women everywhere - gravity itself - one day they would sag; though that is not to say magic could not undo its effects. Should someone's hand come to lay against the whole of one of Danni's breasts much of it would overflow between fingers, and weigh the hand down. Of the three French witches, she was the one most blessed with the curves of womanhood.
Her behind matched her breasts in equal proportion, and it too was without any sag to it whatsoever. Boys had begged to be given the chance to dive in between those cheeks of hers and kiss and lick and do whatever else they might be commanded. But unlike Fleur, Danni was not quite so smooth, and a small bush of fiery red hair rested atop of her own mound, above the puffy flesh of her labia, already dripping drops of arousal unto the carpet that covered the room's entire floor.
Amy... well, Amy was Amy. She was more alike Fleur in body type than Danni, but in all else? If the trio of witches had a center for all things perverse, it would be Amy. It was her who first initiated things with Fleur, back when they had just been acquaintances, just 'Hello, how do you do?' in the hallways of Beauxbatons, right up until Amy had pressed Fleur against a wall, her lips bearing down on Fleur's, while her knee went between her legs, rubbing the Veela's mound in slow motion. The dominance play did not last long on Amy's part, and she found herself in the reverse position, with Fleur taking out all of her frustration out in bursts of rage, bursts of passion and hate and sweat and tears and the sweet, sweet nectar between their legs. It was Amy who drew in Danni to them, having already seen her beforehand with a boy or two in one of the unusued classrooms, and what she bid them do for her, having grown aroused by the sight of a witch dominating a wizard so easily.
From the both of them, Fleur had learned her trade.

Fleur closed her eyes and sighed in anticipation as one hand wrapped itself, from behind, around her right breast. A moment later, she felt wet lips on the back of her neck, while another hand glided down the trail of her spine, until it cupped her ass.
"Sluts," she growled out, turning her head to the side, her own hand pressing against the back of Danni's head as she kissed the red-haired witch's plump lips. Little moans and gasps escaped Danni as Fleur's tongue dove in between her lips. Amy kept busy as well, of course, having sunk down to her knees, almost sandwiched between the two lower halfs of the witches. She took great delight in teasing them with her tongue, teeth grazing just barely against their clits, hands kneading their fleshy behinds.
But one hand moved away eventually and with a murmur against Fleur's now sopping mound, a wand of twelve inches slipped into her waiting palm. She quickly brought it to her mouth and muttered a rather nifty little charm, before she let the wand fall down to the floor, and watched as her tongue grew longer, covered with bumps. When the charm had done its work, Amy didn't hesitate in the slightest and fully turned onto Fleur, her seven-inch tongue diving in between the Veela's lower lips, nose rubbing against her clit, both hands now on her delectable derrière, even as Fleur's hand came to rest on the back of her head, pushing her enlarged tongue even further into her dripping pussy. Each bump in the organ brought tremors to her knees, but Danni's arms had encircled Fleur around her waist and kept her upright, while slowly moving towards the bed.
By the time all three had stumbled onto the bed, Fleur's thighs wrapped around Amy's head while Danni was trailing kisses down her neck, down her collarbone, moist mouth suckling on her breasts, she was already aflame, and the more Amy's tongue whirled around her insides, the hotter her body had become, until naught but the flame remained and Fleur was gone.
Amy's head managed to pull out from Fleur's thigh-grip, her hair, no longer in a ponytail, cascading in front of her face. She settled on top of Fleur, holding her down by the legs, while Danni kept her arms subdued on the side, just barely, as Fleur trashed beneath their hold on her. Amy managed to finally cancel the charm on her tongue, though she left the traces of Fleur's juices untouched, uncleaned from her mouth and chin. The scent alone would help calm her, keep harm at bay.
The skin on Fleur's face tightened, her nose grew longer, turned sharper, the light hair on her arms multiplied and thickened until it became something more than mere human hair. All of it, all of her body, turning from extraordinary human beauty to the very image of inhuman cruelty and malice and want and lust. The creature beneath them no longer spoke in elegant French. It shrieked instead and they knew what it wanted, what it craved and demanded, what it had come out to the fore for. Reluctantly, like so many times before, they let go of Fleur and the tables were swiftly turned. No longer did Amy press herself against Fleur, no longer was Danni allowed to kiss and suckle upon her skin. The Veela had come for its due.
Fortunately for the three of them, they had warded the room with privacy charms beforehand.
It would have been awkward if anyone had chanced upon them to find out the source of those screams.
Amy loved the pain. Dannielle loved the pleasure.
And Fleur loved it all.

Morning came, eventually, sunrise's bleak sunlight spilling into the room through one of the enchanted windows.
Atop the large bed laid three witches, completely in the nude, bodies intertwined, remnants of fluids on their bodies reflecting the light. One of the three sleepyheads eventually stirred awake from slumber, though she refused to be the first one out of bed, and instead chose to nuzzle into the crook of her friend's neck, tickling the skin of it with her measured breaths. It didn't take long before the recipient of the tickling awoke as well, mumbling her displeasure, even as she pulled her friend closer in.
"Bitch," she muttered affectionatelly, her hand moving across her friend's bared skin, enjoying the sight with more than just eyes. Every now and again she'd come across scratches, some deeper than others, but felt no shame from it. Indeed, a part of her being thrilled at the texture, the depth and the taste of those markings, glad that her friend bore them so well.
Amy chose her response well and raised her head up from Fleur's neck to kiss her on the lips and whisper a simple, "Good morning to you too, oh great insatiable one." And there it was, that pleased gleam in Fleur's midnight-blue eyes.
"Was I too much on you?" Fleur asked, her hand still roaming across Amy's body, until it settled for resting between her legs, tending to the inflamed looking labia that was covered in a sticky mess of its own.
Her friend smiled. "Don't be silly, there is no such thing as too much of you, Fleur." She started rubbing her legs around Fleur's hand as her fingers caressed her pussy, gently. "And I rather enjoy the rawness of it. Makes me feel all the more wicked."
"Harlots," said Danni teasingly, her head rising from the pillow as she looked over Fleur's shoulder and into Amy's face.
"Hello to you too," said Fleur. She turned fully on her back and took to placing a few good-morning kisses on Danni's mouth.
The red-haired witch gave out a few hummed moans, and would have gladly enjoyed Fleur's attention for significantly more time, if there hadn't been a sudden knocking on her door. Lazily waving one hand at the door, Fleur dispelled one of the privacy wards, while the other hand remained nestled between's Amy's legs, stirring the honey-pot with her fingers.
"Yes?" she called out with a smile on her face. Amy had bitten into Fleur's shoulder to hide her moans.
"Fleur," came the voice of Madame Maxime, "it's time to get up, you silly girl. We have things to do for today."
"Now, Madame Maxime?"
Two fingers plunged deep, crooking and curling within as Amy's cheeks bloomed bloody-red.
"In three hours. Be ready, my dear," said Maxime before she walked away from the door.
Only when no sound reached from the outside did Fleur reapply the spell and Amy let go of her shoulder, moaning out loud. She rode Fleur's fingers, while rubbing herself against her wrist as well, for a while until her whole body trembled, giving wave upon wave of sickly sweet discharge from her slit and into Fleur's waiting hand. She closed her eyes, sweaty hair matted to the sides of her head, breathing in and out very slowly. Amy was no fool though, she knew what was coming, Fleur was not quite done with her yet. And just like that, she was proven right, when fingers started poking at her mouth, prodding it open until Amy parted her lips and cum-slick digits found themselves resting on Amy's tongue as she cleaned them, one by one.
"Good girl," said Fleur with praise before she took her now-clean fingers from Amy's mouth and gave her a tongue-filling kiss.
Danni groaned, the sight was almost too much for her, but she would not herself fall into this trap. She would not be the last one to head for the shower, which was Fleur's plan all along. After all, she'd done it a number of times before. Dannielle quickly scooted out of the bed, still nude, and left the two to further indulge in their morning passions, while she on the other hand had every intention of claiming the shower and cleaning herself up, a bit of a daunting task considering what Fleur had been up to throughout the night. The thought amused her and then she let loose the near-scalding water from the showerhead.
In about half an hour she was done, and just in time it seemed, as Fleur started making her own way to the bathroom. She gave Dannielle a light smack on her ass as she passed her by, a teasing smile on her face.
"Thank you," said Fleur appreciatively.
Dannielle felt wrongfooted for a moment. She stood still in the doorway, just a towel wrapped around her body, and blinked rather like an owl, in confusion. "For what?"
Fleur took her hand with two of her own, brought it up to her mouth and kissed it lightly. "For not asking too much, too soon."
Understanding slowly dawned on Danni and she nodded her head in recognition of that. "I know you, Fleur, you'll move at your own pace, and you'll tell us when you're ready. Besides," she smirked, "I could see that talking was the farthest thing on your mind last night, and it's not like I minded, did I?"
"You most certainly didn't," said Fleur, smiling. She let Danni's hand go and went towards the shower cabin.
As the droplets of water started gently hitting her skin, she mused on how much she was going to enjoy the thrill of the hunt.
She'd have to be patient, sly and restrained, and while the first two certainly didn't bother her, restraint was an unpleasant thought, an alien concept to the Veela, but all the same, she'd restrain herself. Good things come to those who wait.
After all, taking Harry Potter, and moulding him in accordance to her desires, would be quite the task.

Four weeks after she set her mind in motion, Fleur finally had the chance she waited for so patiently.
The first two weeks she, with the help of Amy and Danni, had spent finding out as much as she could about the, seemingly, introverted and mysterious Harry Potter. Fourth-year Gryffindor, the Boy-Who-Lived, a Parselmouth, and many other things if one were to believe the gossip that spread around the school about his deeds. Of course, at the moment all those deeds and misdeeds of his were looked at in a harsh light. Fleur had found out through a few of the chattier Ravenclaws that Harry Potter was currently being shunned by all of the Houses save his own, which heralded him as their champion, due to a belief that he had cheated his way into the tournament solely to garner more attention, to remain in the spotlight.
He was mocked, derided, ostracized and occasionally almost bullied, though the would-be bullies shied away from committing.
Fleur could have laughed in their faces, and laughed she did in the privacy of her room as Amy and Dannielle kept bringing her tidbits of information about the boy, because the truth was quite obvious: he did not enter himself in the tournament neither willingly nor knowingly. One only had to look at him, look at how he hated being the center of attention, how few friends he had, how so very uncomfortable he was when so many looked upon him, and they would know it.
Jealous fools.
What amazed Fleur is how little the boy responded in turn to all those accusations and harsh words, and how rather than confronting the crowd, he shied away from it. It amazed her because it suited her plans oh so very much. An insular boy, one who had only made two friends in all his years so far at Hogwarts, would not be prone to any sort of bragging or rumor-spreading that any other wizard his age might be inclined to. It guaranteed privacy. Fleur was pleased by that.
What pleased her even more was that those two friends of his seemed to have been keeping their distance from him. Apparently, not even they were sure about how he was entered into the tournament, despite their years-long friendship, and that created some friction. Most of it seemed to stem from the red-headed, freckle-faced gangly looking boy, rather than the bushy-haired, plain-faced muggleborn witch, but in the end it didn't matter. All alone, on his own, he was the perfect prey.
But that did not mean Harry Potter was weak or stupid or cowardly.
The First Task proved as much. Outflying a dragon on a broom! Who in their sane mind would attempt it? Dragons were creatures of fire and magic and air, much like Veelas, albeit on a larger scale, and their size did little to hamper them in speed.
Fleur only wished she could have seen it with her own eyes, rather than watch it on the omniocular's replay vision, but she had some minor singes from dragon-fire that needed tending, and the medi-witch seemed intent on keeping her confined.
How full of surprises you are, Harry Potter. How wonderful. How will you act, I wonder, once bereft your delusions of self-control?
Her hunger for the boy-wizard only grew, and she took to satiating herself on Amy and Danni as much as possible, but even they could not help stave away the ferocious beast within, the Veela that she was. More and more effort it took with every day to keep herself subdued, to not simply blaze her path through the Great Hall, grab him by the collar and take him then and there, for all to see, for all to witness and acknowledge that Harry Potter was to be solely her property. For the year, at least.
Unfortunately, his naked vulnerability was not long-lasting, and his friends rejoined him after the First Task, no doubt flinging frivolous excuses as to why they shunned him in the first place. It was no longer quite the fissure she hoped to exploit, but the cracks could be widened sufficiently, if enough pressure was applied, if she only found something to grab hold of.
A week passed after the First Task and it was a frenzy. Witches and wizards alike prowled in groups, occasionally one of them separating from the herd in order to try and ask someone for the honor of being their date at the Yule Ball. To Fleur it was quite boring, repetetive in fact. Before that first week was out, she had been asked by no less than fifteen different boys, from all of the Houses of Hogwarts, and even one or two from Durmstrang. She received no offers from the Beauxbatons boys, after all, they knew better than to try and approach la reine des garces, as they liked to call her, so haughty and aloof in her arrogance, who'd eagerly take to refusing them in public and humiliating them in return. They'd learned well, over the past seven years.
And as that fourth week after the First Task was ending, the Yule Ball just eleven days away, Fate accomodated Fleur.
In truth, she'd been pondering on Danni's proposal, whether to subtly prompt one of the Ravenclaw students to ask her to the ball, before the three of them took him back to their carriage, and had their way with him. After all, what boy, and that's what they all were no matter their age or appearance, would refuse the attention of three beautiful witches?
Roger Davies. I do wonder how eager you'll be to skulk closer to us once we had our fun with you.
Fleur graced the boy with a vague smile every now and again, the notion almost fully gestated. The boy only needed to be barely grazed by the Allure and he'd be merrily dancing to whatever tune Fleur played. While he was certainly not up to her usual tastes in wizards, he'd do as a diversion, and perhaps, even serve as another way to lure Harry Potter to her clutches.
She'd been thinking about that for quite some time, on how to make an approach without revealing it was her approaching him, while she was wandering around Hogwarts, on her own, only to sense someone following her. For the span of a single moment, her features twisted in an ugly expression, sneer and scorn combined, as Fleur considered who might be the latest fool whose advances she'd rebuff, and whether she might lead him back to a more populated area where she would hit him with the near full strength of the Allure and watch him make a fool of himself while vying for her affections.
Only that single flash of green, a glance stolen from the corner of her eye, stayed her from this course.
A green of the eyes, hidden behind the metallic frame of glasses, beneath the mess of his black hair.
Oh this is just too perfect. Now why would Harry Potter be following me?
She pretended not to see him, but she did slow the pace of her walk, feigning interest in paintings and portraits she passed by. If she guessed right she was nearing the seventh floor, provided the moving staircases had not deposited her somewhere entirely else; the damnable thing seemed to have a will of its own, and cared nothing for the intent of those that walked upon it. Fleur wet her lips with the tip of her tongue, a small flutter of anticipation tingling in her belly, more so for the fact that they were the only two in the long hallway, without any other to witness what might or might not happen between them.
That particular thought sent a surge of excitement right to that special place of hers, where the Veela slumbered.
Fleur turned on the spot, face framed in feigned confusion and worry.
"Is somezing ze matter, 'arry Potter?" said Fleur.
She watched him take a deep breath, and almost start to visibly shake his head as she subtly plied him with the Allure, rather enjoying the sight of the almost-glaze on his eyes, before he managed to throw it off. Surprising, but not uncommon.
It will be such fun to break him.
"Miss Delacour, I wanted to ask you if you would accompany me to the Yule Ball?"
Now it was Fleur's turn to feel slightly stunned. Whatever she might have been expecting, this was not it. After all, he'd been fairly unsubtle in his pining for an Asian witch that sat at the Ravenclaw table, and so she had not once thought to entertain the idea that the Yule Ball would be a good approach for her, as Harry Potter had become accepted once more, or rather craved, by the majority of Hogwarts students after the tribulation of the First Task. Besting a dragon was no small matter. Others wanted to share in the glory and fame once it was reaffirmed in their eyes as something solely of his own doing.
Fleur's honest expression of confusion turned to a phantom of a smile, almost there but not quite.
"You ask zis now," said Fleur, "less zan two weeks before ze ball? Meester Potter, you are being prezumptious."
He swallowed a small lump, borne of hesitation and... and... was that anger in his eyes again that she saw?
"I haven't heard anything about you accepting anyone's propostion, so I thought I might as well ask."
False bravado. Reassuring himself, covering up for his weak approach. It avails you nothing, boy.
"And why would I, Meester Potter, accept your proposition, even if I didn't accept another's? You are but a little boy," there, that anger resurfacing before he burried it beneath, but not well enough, "and zere is little incentive for me to accept. Not to mention," Fleur grinned internally, "I sinzerely doubt zat I am your first choice, not after two weeks 'ad passed since the ball was announzed in ze Great 'all. So why should I play second fiddle to a little boy's wants and whimz?"
He was not an expert in concealing his emotions, and the mask he'd just barely donned on had shattered into thousands upon thousands of little pieces, as a glacial sort of fury radiated outwards from his face. But he did not lash out at her, there's that.
Harry Potter steeled his jaw before letting it loose to speak in a, more or less, admiring tone. "Because you are beautiful."
At that, Fleur raised an eyebrow and waited for more to follow, but none came. She sighed and shook her head. "You tell me nozzing new, 'arry Potter. No more zan any mirror would, at any time of ze day or night." She turned away from him, unguarded back and unconcerned for any sort of possible reprisal, and took a single step.
All or nothing, make your play, Harry Potter. All or nothing, all the same, you cannot best me at the game I've played all my life.
He'd almost shouted out the words, "Because you'd make them envious, because... because you'd make her jealous!"
There we go.
Before she turned once more towards him, Fleur's face bore a rather predatory smile: the smile of a knife before plunging down into an unprotected heart, the smile of a shark before ripping apart flesh, the smile of all women before toying with a man.
So simple really. For all his fame, for all the deeds ascribed, valorous or otherwise, Harry Potter was very much just a boy.
She was passive, but inviting when she turned her head around and inclined it towards him, indicating he should follow.
In truth, she had no idea where they were, whether there would be some sort room they could conveniently use, but she had no intention of stopping and asking him for directions. No reason to let him think he was in control, and the sooner he grew accustomed to giving her the reigns, the sooner Fleur would have him do as she bid. He would come to beg her for all of it.
A room they did find, an abandoned classroom, just like she hoped to come across, and in they went, first little Harry and then Fleur, who twirled her wand this and that-a way, murmuring incantations in the cadence and power of old, dead tongues, insuring none would come across them by accident or design, not until Fleur had her hunger satisfied, one way or another.
Harry had settled against one of the desks, not quite sitting, not quite standing. Perhaps he resented the difference in height, having to look up to her face, into her eyes, and sitting would only bring it to the fore? Who knew? Perhaps Fleur overthought matters. Perhaps his fourteen-year-old mind did not even contemplate these things.
"Make who jealous, 'arry Potter?" she asked as though she didn't already know the answer. The question she had all but uttered in a pleased purr, but he did not notice. No doubt, he was trying to find a way not to embarass himself any further.
He wet his lips unconsciously before answering, "Cho Chang. She's a Ravenclaw student and... and..."
Fleur nodded. "But why make 'er jealous, 'arry Potter? Why give a damn at all about 'er? You spoke of envy as well."
His sigh carried such weight to it, she thought he might deflate and crumble to the floor. "Everyone," he closed his eyes, "every single damn one of them look at me like I'm some sort of circus attraction, a monkey to play at their whim. I thought it'd be different, being in the wizarding world, but it's really not, it's the same it was with muggles, just magic sprinkled on top." He lifted his lids and she looked on those emerald-green orbs, weary and old. "I ask, I ask just for one damn year to be uncomplicated, just one year, and Voldemort's not even around anymore, and it still doesn't matter. It all keeps repeating itself and I'm still seen as a puppet on a string, to be fiddled and played with for everyone's amusement." He pressed his lips together, and they thinned. Frustration perhaps? "You were right, you know. Second choice, I mean. You were. I mean, it's not that you're not beautiful, you are, it's just.. this one girl, that was all and when I asked her out to the ball she just had this sad smile, and I knew there was a laugh behind it as well, before Diggory swooped in and they shared the joke in a whisper."
Ah, to be so young again. So foolish and naive. Well, at least that's what others were like, Fleur assumed. She'd never been any of those things, for that was not her way. Never had she confided in complete strangers, but then again she had never been as isolated, voluntarily or otherwise, as he was. When she wanted something, or someone, she took it into her hands to acquire, to snatch and steal, if need be, to hold in her grasp and play for as long as her interest held sway. Harry Potter was to be such a toy, for her to wind up, and watch him dance all the same, but a tune unlike any other would accompany his motions.
You will make such beautiful moans.
"Zat," said Fleur, "is a razzer intense bundle of emotions, 'arry Potter. And while I'm flattered by your confidence in me that I would not spread ze tale of it around," only then she saw panic come briefly to his face as the realization to whom he spoke sank in, "all ze same, it does not give me a single reason as to why I should accept your proposal."
Harry did deflate then, his shoulders sagged, eyes cast down, and his posture leaned more heavily on the desk behind him.
Come on, you stupid boy. Ask it. You know what you must ask, so don't bother delaying it. I shall wring it from you all the same.
Minutes passed, in absolute silence. Not a sound was heard, not even their breathing. Fleur willed the boy hear her thoughts.
Eventually, his eyes rose from the floor, brilliant green against the backdrop of sunset's light. His mouth tightened. He frowned.
"What do you want?"
Fleur could have kissed the boy, but really, where was the fun in that?
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To revel with a Veela