Chapter 58

It is impossible for a Frenchman to escape Voltaire. Fleur knew this more than most. The writer and philospher was taught, evoked, quoted and instructed at every level of school.

Before she'd even reached Beauxbatons, she'd been given Candide to read, and later Le Siècle de Louis XIV.

His philosophies were somewhat lost on her, for a long time. There was only philosophy she knew — what she wanted, she took. More often that not, it was gifted to her before she had to take it.

The philosophy of the beautiful.

Still, Voltaire's teachings had filtered in eventually, even if she'd torn a page from Candide to invite, via paper-plane, the cute boy in class to break up with his plain-faced girlfriend.

She was not uncultured. She knew he'd never actually wrote his famous quote 'I disagree with what you say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it'.

But all his quotes, misquotes, poorly attributed sayings, they had jumbled up in her head.

"Madness is to think of too many things in succession too fast, or of one thing too exclusively." She murmured to herself, finger trailing down her cleft in her wet lavender panties.

Too many things in succession too fast. Harry behind her. Harry on top of her. Harry forcing her to her knees.

One thing too exclusive. His cock. His cock. His cock.

She smacked her head back on the pillow, her bare thighs squirming.

She had gone mad. She'd snapped at Professor Blanchard when the woman had told her to concentrate. She'd blasted fireballs at a boy who dared wink at her.

For La Fête des Rois, they'd made the traditional cake, competing from table to table. Fleur's job had been simply to conjure a cute little charm. All she could conjure was a penis.

It was humiliating.

The door creaked open.

Fleur sat up eagerly.

Marie entered quietly — her dark chestnut hair brushed carefully, her blouse tucked in. Fleur growled — nothing dribbled down the girl's legs.

"Why does 'Arry not come?" She moaned, throwing herself back onto the bed.

Marie shrugged, her smile amused. "I guess he's busy. He has other women, you know."

Fleur hissed at that. "It's your fault, tu sais." She pointed an accusing finger. "You aren't attractive enough."

Her friend raised a thin eyebrow. "Don't get mean."

"Ugh." She sighed. "Marie, I need him. I need it." She held up her hand, showing off her fingers. "Look at zis. My fingers look like Madam Maxime's face."

Marie snorted as she came and sat on the bed. "Don't get mean, I said. You could try playing with yourself less, you know."

"Pah." French blew out a breath. "I need to see him."

"You're not going into Hogwarts the same way as last time. Asking for a book won't work again."

Fleur curled up on the bed and then stretched lithely. At least Marie couldn't stop looking at her.

"Why doesn't he want me, Marie?" She sighed. "I am very—"

"Fuck-able." Marie finished. With the French tongue, the 'able' became like 'ablah'.

"Oui. Fuckable, non?" She pouted. "I blow 'im, I beg, I wear ridiculous zings. And what? Nuzzing!" She frowned. "What sort of man doesn't want a Veela?"

Marie hummed. "There are other men, Fleur."

She curled her fingers into the sheets, morose. The bed felt cold — it had long since stopped smelling like him. Fleur could not even devour his seed and scent from between Marie's legs anymore, for he did not come to France.

"La vie n'a aucun sens pour moi." She whispered.

Marie snorted, swatting her behind sharply.

"Ow!"

"This is not the Fleur Delacour I know." Her friend chastised. "Use your brain, if it hasn't dribbled out of your chatte. If Harry's ignoring you, ask yourself why."

Fleur paused at that. Why was he ignoring her? Even if she was annoying (which, she admitted, she could be) and arrogant (understandably), she was still a willing and eager body.

The answer wasn't far.

"'Arry is trying to prove a point." Fleur said slowly. "But he is very wrong."

"Oh?" Marie's hands slid up her bare legs, teasing her.

"I am stronger than any man." She declared, hands bunching into fists. "If 'Arry thinks he can ignore me and I will 'ave a breakdown, he is foolish indeed, non?"

Marie pursed her lips. "You are clearly stable, oui."

Fleur ignored her. "Just a few more days and 'Arry will come begging, I am sure! And zen, Marie, ze tables will be turning!"

She could imagine it even now. Harry would come with roses and wine and that glorious cock, desperate for her attention.

"Uh-uh." Marie said skeptically.

"I shall not be magnanime." Fleur said, buffing her fingernails. "I shall sit on his face and ride like Joan of Arc leading the French army at Orléans!"

Imagining it, the Veela girl rocked back and forth — her friend's hand played the part of the horse.

"Inspiring." Marie said dryly.

"Oui." Fleur closed her eyes, envisioning it. "I shall drown 'Arry in my glory before I poke at his silly leetle cock."

"His—"

"Yes, I know." She rolled her eyes. "He is not so leetle. But he is not mighty enough to conquer me." She bit her lip as Marie's fingers slipped under her panties. "Oui, oui, oui. I…mmm…I'm Fleur Delacour and I shall win ze day!"

Her hand dropped to her breast, groping herself. A smile spread across her face. "'Arry Potter will rue ze day he tried to best a Veela. I shall burn him in the fire of my people."

Marie brought her to orgasm quickly, as always, and with her climax came clarity.

She flopped back on the pillow and grabbed her long hair and pulled it down, holding both ends like a curtain.

The stage closed, but even hidden under her locks, away from her friend's knowing eyes, she knew her bravado was finished.

She pulled her hair aside and looked at her friend.

"I'm done." Fleur said flatly. "If 'Arry wanted to break me, I am zat. A bird with broken wings, non? In a pile of ashes."

Marie gave her a soft smile. "The beautiful thing about fire, ma chérie, is that it can bring a rebirth. A bird can be reborn in the hottest flames."

"I am no phoenix." Fleur said morosely.

Her friend clipped her ear. "If Harry has got you admitting your faults, he really can make miracles. Trust in him."

Fleur closed her eyes. To her surprise, she felt tears trail down her cheeks. "Why not? He has everything else."

###

Harry held up one of Apolline's long legs, sawing into her as he side-fucked her.

"Please, Monsieur!" She begged, spitting out her blonde locks from her mouth. She dutifully held up her Beauxbatons skirt around her waist, so he could see his cock ramming into her wet cunt. "I cannot take eet! I 'ave to get to class!"

The powder blue uniform looked ridiculous on Apolline's full figure, her thick thighs bulging from her stocking tops, breeding hips wide, magnificent tits stretching buttons.

"You should have thought about that before you went without underwear, slut." Harry growled. "The Beauxbatons regulations are very strict!"

Her open mouth trembled with every hard thrust, saliva dripping to her chin, her eyes crossed. "But they just get wet after your class, Professeur Potter!"

"I have to discipline all of you wayward whores." He shook his head, swatting her creamy pussy. Her lips were red and glistening.

"Ayyy!" She cried.

"Finish with a well-placed Cruciatus to her pulsating clitoris." Tom advised.

"Will this juvenile fantasy ever end?" Mei jabbed.

It ended with a scream that filled the hotel room they'd booked in Corsica, and filtered out of the window into the sun-drenched old town.

While Apolline screamed, her whole body vibrating as her cunt creamed, Harry bent the Veela MILF's leg high, holding it for leverage as he came hard, flooding her inside with ropes of hot sticky cum.

She moaned and shivered with every rope, trembling and panting until he was finally empty.

"Mmm," She held her poor abused pussy as he slowly slid out of the obscene mess he'd left. "Nothing better zan holiday sex, my love."

"I thought this was a mission to see the island the mermaids have claimed from the Veela." Harry sighed as he collapsed on top of her.

She peppered him with kisses. "Oui. When I have recovered. Ze 'andsome Professeur was not so gentle with zis poor innocent schoolgirl." She pouted, hissing as his thick load oozed out of her pussy.

"'Ermione is right, non?" The Veela propped her elbows up. "You 'ave a thing for schoolgirls."

"Indeed," Tom murmured. "You share my predilection for destroying the false shield that is innocence."

"Or perhaps he's just another creepy man taking advantage of girls too young to know better." Mei snapped.

Harry ignored them both, stroking Apolline's long hair lovingly. His Veela served him well.

"I can't wait until your daughter joins us."

"Nor can I, mon cheri." Apolline closed her eyes and smiled at the thought. "She will know love like ours, it is everyzing a mother could 'ope for her child."

"Soon."

"Very soon." She urged. "She is ready, almost. Now you must decide how you want her."

"Huh?"

Apolline patted his cheek. "It is ze great deflowering that you've been waiting for. Fleur's fall from grace. Do you want me there? Do you want her in school uniform or in her Tournament swimsuit, or per'aps, lingerie?"

Harry thought about it. "I want it all." He admitted.

"Zat is your problem, 'Arry." She teased. "You are very greedy. You stand at a buffet and you want to eat everything."

"Speaking of…"

The Veela smirked. "A woman's job is never done, non?" She descended down his body.

When Apolline had obediently cleaned up and they'd allowed some time for her to rest and process the ton of spunk he'd put in her, they left the hotel hand in hand.

Thanks to a thick wad of cash, Harry found transport eventually, going from boat to boat in the jetties of Ajaccio, off Corsica's western coast. The sailing boat was freshly painted and looked new, unlike its owner Marcel, grizzled and grey-bearded.

The thickly accented man spent half the time staring at Apolline's chest and the other half complaining about the huge cruise ships that docked in the town.

"Couldn't you have covered up a little?" Harry leaned over to her as their boat sped out of the jetty.

"I thought I did." She pouted. Her sandy-shaded crochet bodycon coverup had bigger holes than the story Harry had given Marcel for wanting to sail near the mysterious and empty island off Corsica. The shiny lime green bikini underneath didn't help keep Marcel's attention on the horizon either.

"This island is bad business, you know." Marcel said, with a voice that sounded like he'd smoked five packs a day for thirty years.

"I know, we just wanted to look at it." Harry said lamely.

"Locals know not to get too close." The old man shook his head. "Get too close and you get scratches on the hull, gouges. Man went missing once, too."

Harry leaned forward, hiding his smirk. "You think there's something…supernatural? Sirens?"

Marcel gave him an unamused look. "It's all fun and games to a city boy but sailors know that all that glitters is not gold."

The island in the horizon came closer. Lush overgrown trees, a canopy of green, but it was built onto an island of lichen-stained rock. Craggy stone that stuck out with a wide, unclimbable lip.

"See the water around the island?" Marcel pointed. "The different shade of it? It's the rocks underneath. Dashed a dozen boats."

Harry could see evidence of shipwrecks — half a hull stuck in a thin cave opening. One of the trees was struggling to match the height of a lone wooden mast that had tangled up next to it.

"No wonder nobody explores it." Apolline murmured.

"They don't even need Muggle-Repelling Charms." Harry whispered back.

Marcel looked spooked. "I'll be down under. Give me a shout when you want to turn around — I ain't going no closer."

When the man disappeared, Apolline's arm entwined around Harry's, her head on his shoulder. "It's the largest influx of power you can get, 'Arry." She said silkily. "The Veela Princess could order each Veela under her command to spread their legs for you."

Harry stared out at the foreboding island. "Only if I kill every mermaid on that island. It's a tribe. A genocide."

Apolline nuzzled his shoulder. "A king needs an army."

"It is not murder to rid the world of lesser creatures." Tom approved.

Mei scoffed. "Don't you read, boy? The evils that have been done in thinking other races are lesser."

Harry frowned. Killing the mermaids to gain the Veela sounded like a Voldie thing to do. That was the scary thing, he thought — his own moral compass was so busted that he could only identify wrong if Tom approved of it.

Apolline could see his thoughts on his face. Her hand slipped under his white linen shirt, stroking his chest hair. "If Voldemort goes to the Veela and offers to kill the mermaid tribe, he'll gain their alliance instead."

"Even if they don't see him as a male Veela like Eluthera-thingy."

"Elutheratan." Apolline corrected. Her lips twisted down sourly. "The supposedly wise Princess doesn't recognise you for what you are. They are fools too busy fingering themselves on the pedestals they've made themselves, mistaking their little power for true purpose." She scowled. "They've forgotten what we are." She melted into his embrace. "Who we belong to." She shivered.

Her fingers dug into his skin. "Remind them, Master. Please."

Harry looked down at his trembling Veela. "You really want this, don't you?"

She looked up at him and he was startling to see her glistening eyes "It's the greatest honour of my life, 'Arry. To serve you. To love you." She sniffled. "Because I choose sex to express it, I worry you don't know how I ache for you. How you changed my life. How you gave my life meaning." She gave him a tearful kiss. "Tu es l'amour de ma vie."

You're the love of my life. Harry didn't need to lean on the French he'd stolen from Tom to know what it meant, because he could see it in her eyes.

"I want that for my people." Apolline admitted. "To them to know the happiness in kneeling at your feet. To know the true meaning of being Veela." She giggled and wiped her eyes. "The racists were right, all along. The stereotypes we fought, all this time. But Veela, we were meant to serve, to submit, to kneel, to follow." A tingle spread across her skin, her body quivering. "To love."

Harry looked at her incredulously. "Men?"

She snorted. Even her snort was adorable. "One man, imbécile. You." Her hand held his cock, not stroking, but simply feeling his warmth. "The male Veela to lead the rest of us to the new beginning."

He held her close, watching the sun pass over the mermaid island. "I still don't believe I am who you say I am." He said softly.

Harry had a sneaking suspicion that Elutheratan may have used the same spell he had, eons ago. The ancient Egyptian spell that an emperor had used to control and pleasure his harem, sick of the jealousy and infighting that threatened his reign.

The Pharaoh had used it only for his harem but maybe Elutheratan had taken it further?

Maybe the man had needed a excuse for his hordes of loving women.

The Veela court also held records of the man — it was that which attracted Harry, as much as the thought of making Princess Sofia's stomach bulge with his cum.

If Elutheratan had written down his secrets, maybe Harry could stop flying blind. He could learn how to take the most from his girls. He could learn how to protect his mind from all of their insignificant memories — Marie's first time riding a horse, Narcissa crying herself to sleep in loneliness, Hermione being bullied in school.

And maybe…maybe he could learn how to counter what Voldemort had told him, the weakness of his bond. That when his girls died, their power drained away from Harry.

Voldemort had said that when his Death Eaters died, their power flooded to him.

But when Harry's lovers died, their powers died with them, leaving him lesser.

An army of liabilities, an inherent weakness that the Dark Lord would advantage of. Their deaths would mean he'd stolen their lives, their love, for nothing.

Harry couldn't let that happen.

He needed the Veela — and the secrets they held.

But he couldn't kill the mermaids for it. Could he?

He studied the island. "You once told me…the mermaids. They have nothing down there?"

Apolline shrugged. "I've seen a dead mermaid. She had nuzzing." Her accent came and went, as ever.

"They must procreate somehow."

"Maybe they have hidden ones." She sniffed. "They are simple beasts, 'Arry, not worth thinking about."

Harry hummed.

The mermaids probably said the same of the Veela.

He knew little of the merpeople, except that they contained sub-species, many. The colony in the Black Lake of Hogwarts were known as Selkies, native to Scotland, green haired and yellow-eyed, more fish than man.

But the mermaids of the Mediterranean, known as sirens, were meant to be fairer, creatures of beauty who seduced men to a watery death.

Maybe he couldn't kill the tribe out of their land — but perhaps he could fuck them out of it, laying waste with the might of his magic cock.

He snorted at the image.

Apolline rolled her head to look up at him from the pillow she'd made of his chest. "What's so funny?"

"My dick." Harry said simply.

She winced, her hand dipping to her bikini bottoms. "Believe me, 'Arry. It is not funny at all. It should be classed as a weapon."

Harry imagined the island beyond the trees and the rocks. A blue water lagoon full of beautiful fair mermaids, lying limp on the rocks and the sands as he fucked them to exhaustion, one by one.

"A weapon of mass destruction." He murmured.

###

"So nice to escape Britain, isn't it?" Alice sucked noisily on her straw, draining away the mocktail of blue-and-yellow. "We can sort of pretend that all the raids aren't happening."

"Easy there." Harry looked at the line of empty glasses. "All that non-alcohol." He teased.

The new party on the society calendar was in France, at the Delacour's chateau. Harry was avoiding the hostess — he knew he wouldn't be able to behave when he met a young Apolline, especially in the plunging halter gown she'd chosen.

Instead, he was keeping Alice company in the corner of the ballroom — the woman didn't speak much French.

Alice rolled her eyes. The bluebell maternity dress she wore would have been elegant, if it weren't for the breasts her pregnancy had granted her, pushed up by a charm. "I pee endlessly no matter how much I drink. Lily said she'd work on a special Vanishing Charm, like a magical catheter."

"Tell me more." Harry said sarcastically. "Where is she, anyway?"

"James didn't want her taking an International Portkey while she was pregnant. I think he's coming later, of course. He can never miss a party." She rolled her eyes.

"What about Frank—"

"Frank doesn't have a thought unless his mother puts it in there for him." She said bitterly, gazing out at the ballroom where her husband was gently twirling his mother Augusta. She sighed. "Sorry."

Tom clapped his hands gleefully from his seat in the audience of Harry's mind. "The Longbottoms are a prime example of the failure of modern wizards."

"It's okay." Harry looked around the ballroom, searching for something — anything — to change the conversation.

It was a dome of grandeur, walled by a column colonnade rising up staggered levels, spiraled in gold lacquer. The first floor was arched mirrors, making the huge room seem even larger. The second floor was arched windows, bringing in the light.

The third was paintings, static men and women all looking up at the glass dome above.

The party was less classy than the room — champagne glasses filled themselves in a never-ending fountain of bubbly on one table, while the next held a streaming fountain of chocolate, for guests to coat strawberries in.

"They, uh, say that Napoleon himself danced here and that he was so inspired that he took the design for the Paris Opera House—" Harry began.

"He was a cuckold, wasn't he?" Alice interrupted.

"I—what?"

"His wife Joséphine cheated on him while he was warring in Egypt or wherever." Alice said airily. "And Napoleon took her back. Loved her all the same." She looked at him shrewdly. "Could you ever do that?"

"I don't know that I could." Harry said honestly. He was mostly hanging out with Alice to avoid staring at Jean's arm around his Apolline's waist — could he be enraged even though he hadn't technically met the Veela woman yet?

Alice studied him, sipping on her straw. "No, I don't think you could. It takes a sort of…"

"Strength?"

"Weakness." Alice finished. "A witch is meant to treasure her wizard, but if that wizard can't satisfy her, on any level?"

Harry swallowed, all too aware that Frank was in the same room, somewhere. "I mean, Morgana was said to have made witches submissive to great wizards."

Alice hummed thoughtfully, leaning back in her chair. Her toes were warm against his thigh. "But what happens when a wizard isn't great at all?"

"I, well—" Harry's answer was interrupted by the blowing of a trumpet.

"Esteemed ladies and gentlemen," Jean Delacour waved away the trumpet-player. "We are so lucky and honored to have a special guest arriving unexpectedly at our door. Please stand and welcome Her Majesty, the Queen of Veela!"

The men stood and bowed. Harry locked his eyes on the sheening tile marble as the pressure hit his mind. It was an Allure stronger than any he'd ever felt, even when visiting the Veela court.

"At ease, ladies and gentlemen." Her voice was rich, throaty. "This is a party, isn't it?"

The men stood from their bows. The women rose from their curtsies.

Harry took it all in. Men with red faces, tuxedo jackets tugged down to try and hide their erections. Women with painted-on smiles.

And the Queen — hair so dark it was almost black, thick and curly like a vintage model, hair short enough to simply tickle her bare shoulders, short to emphasise an elegant neck, or more likely to emphasise the sapphire between her collarbones, bigger than Harry's hand.

The sapphire matched her blue satin strapless dress, sparkling with silver sequins. Her arms were covered by a grand white mink fur.

She was a beauty of beauties, like an actress from the Golden Age.

"Oh, Merlin." Frank Longbottom shuddered — his form was still bowed, quivering, and Harry could see a wet patch at his crotch. The fool had worn a white suit.

He scurried out of the back entrance to titters. Alice's nostrils flared.

"I can't believe him!" She seethed.

"I mean, it's a magical force, it's difficult to defend against—"

"You were fine." She said flatly.

"I've got more—"

"Excusez-moi?" A red-sashed attendant interrupted. "Ze Queen would like to meet you."

Alice hissed as she began to raise from her chair. "Give me a few minutes, I am pregnant, you know—"

"Not you." The attendant said flatly. "Him."

Harry smiled uneasily as Alice sank back down into her chair, scowling. "Me?"

"Oui."

"I…okay." He left Alice fuming at her table and followed the attendant across the ballroom, cognisant of all the eyes on him.

The Queen lounged with one statuesque leg over the other, reclining on a simple leather-backed chair like it was a throne. She tilted her head back and puffed from a long silver cigarette holder as he approached.

She sat at an empty table for ten, completely alone and completely comfortable.

"Your Highness—" Harry bowed.

"Sit." She interrupted, kicking out a chair for him, next to hers. "What is your name?" She said flatly, studying him as he sat.

"Lord Edward Harry Foxham."

"A ridiculous name." She decided. "I approve."

"Uh, thank you—"

"I enjoy seeing the weakness of men when I enter the room." She narrated airily, tapping her cigarette into an ashtray. "Buckling knees, nails drawing blood from their hands. The little shudder of their hips as these pompous men ejaculate into their underwear." She looked at him slyly. "It is an aphrodisiac to me, you understand?"

"I do."

"And seeing a man resistant to my charms? It is like swimming in the Seine. Cold, with a repulsive taste in the mouth." She narrowed her eyes.

"I'm sorry, Your Highness." Harry said, bewildered. "I've had a lot of people messing with my mind."

She sighed, slipping her legs free of the high heels and lounging them into his lap. Harry barely stopped himself from flinching — she had as much ego as her daughter Sofia.

"What makes you think the Allure affects the mind?" The Queen smirked. Her toes curled and rubbed against his cock.

Harry's hands hovered, unsure where to place them. Finally, they settled on her bare ankle. "I'm not sure I'm worthy, or have the constitution, to flirt with royalty, Your Highness." He said slowly, picking his words carefully.

"No?" She hummed and then peered over his shoulder. "I see your companion. You prefer the married and pregnant women, yes?"

"Less dangerous, perhaps."

"Undoubtedly." The Queen said wryly.

Harry did his best to keep his attention on her piercing eyes. She had heterochromia — her right eye cocoa brown, her left startling blue.

She licked her lips as she noticed his gaze. "What's your next line, Lord Foxham?"

"Aren't you doing the chasing?" Harry smirked. "It's yours. You could wrap this up if I wasn't simply entertainment."

"But I've only just arrived." She pouted. "Besides, what would I say? I've never had to chase."

He shrugged. "Come back to my place? Where is that…off Corsica?"

The Queen stilled. "The Veela's ancestral home. You're more interesting than I realized." She leaned back, her fingers holding her cigarette holder daintily. Harry looked at the silver holder again and realized it doubled as her wand. "I can't let you go back to your prey, I'm afraid. She's rather pregnant, isn't she? I'm doing her a favour."

Harry took a glass of red from the table — he needed something to distract himself from those soulful eyes. "The only entertainment you can derive from me is my poor attempts at flirtation? I imagined you'd set me loose just to watch what I get up to."

"I'm not a voyeur, Lord Foxham. That isn't my chosen fetish." The Queen chastised. She tilted her head. "Not usually, at least. Although, traditionally, we like a spectator sport."

"Jousting?"

She sniffed in amusement. "We like watching our peacocks fight. They flout their feathers and battle."

"Peacocks?"

"Wizards. It's tradition to set a wizard off against a peer, watch them battle for our attention. There's nothing as amusing as the injured male ego."

Harry's smile dissipated.

So that 's why Sofia had Pierre Du Pont push him into a duel.

"Is that what you're going to do with me?" He asked. "I'm going to be your prized peacock?"

The Queen smirked unrepentantly. "Would you like that? If it gained my attention…my affection?"

"In my experience, the affection of beautiful women flits around erratically like a kite in the wind. It's soon lost in the clouds."

The Queen laughed into her wine glass. "You are older than you look, Lord Foxham." Her long tongue wiped the drops of red from her chin. "But so am I. I am no longer the virgin Queen." She wriggled her toes in his lap. "I have a child, an heir. She'll take my place one day."

"Going to teach her everything you know?"

"Perhaps not everything." She played with her dress, inching it up her leg. "In the court of Veela, succession never works kindly." She sighed heavily, staring up at the gold ceiling. "The game of thrones is played with tongues and blades, poisons and parlays."

She placed her cigarette holder in her mouth — the end of it, her wand, lit red. The cloud of smoke washed over Harry, rose-scented. "None of the women of my court are my friends, though they bow and beg, though their tongues pleasure my feet and my femininity. They'd kill me for a a hint of power."

Harry considered that for a long moment. "Maybe it's best to duel, like peacocks."

"Too gauche." She sniffed. "But not unheard of." She pulled her feet from his lap and used them to push his chair away. "Show off for me?" The Queen pursed her lips. "I despise it when a man feels powerful but is but a pretender."

"Now who's being gauche."

"I'm ordering you to be gauche, which makes it quite acceptable." She snapped her fingers. A petite attendant was there before Harry even blinked.

"Lord Foxham needs a duelling opponent."

The attendant snapped her fingers. The trumpets blew once more.

"We seek an eager opponent to duel for the Queen's pleasure." The attendant announced.

"I will duel." A middle-aged man said proudly.

"Lord Mazarin is eager for your attention, your majesty." The attendant said softly.

"Mazarin?" The Queen furrowed her brow.

"An Italian."

"Oh, how awful for him."

An arm raised in the crowd. "Perhaps I may be allowed to offer my services."

Harry blinked.

A man swept back his rakish black hair, offered a charming grin. He wore a burgundy doublet over a white dress shirt, the doublet emblazoned with an emblem that Harry knew well.

House Potter.

James Potter.

Harry felt his chest pull tightly, his tips of his fingers cold.

Dad. The man hadn't been at the Longbottom party. Harry had known he would see him eventually, but he wasn't ready for it.

The twinkle in his eyes, the warmth of his grin.

Harry took a shuddering breath. He stared at his father, because if he closed his eyes, he'd see the only other memory he had of him. Tom's hand striking him down, the future he could not change.

"Lord Potter." The Queen purred. "Always so eager to seek the attention — I haven't forgotten the duel you had with your friend last summer, you know."

James bowed deeply. "And once again, my absent friend Sirius apologizes for setting fire to your hat, your Majesty."

"I'm quite certain he doesn't." She sighed. "Very well. What Frenchman can deny the pleasures of seeing two Englishmen make fools of themselves, for our enjoyment?"

The crowd erupted with laughter.

It wasn't that funny, Harry mused.

The attendant snapped her fingers. The trumpets blew once more.

"Ladies and gentlemen, for your entertainment this evening, the Queen's traditional duel. On one side, Lord Edward Harry Foxham, and on the other, Lord James Potter!"

Harry stood across from his father. James gave him a jaunty salute and bowed. There was a light in his eyes.

Harry smiled despite himself. He'd dreamed about his father when he lived in a cupboard under the stairs, even when he'd been told he was dead, he still dreamed.

The man that would come and rescue him, take him away to a life of luxury and ice cream.

James Potter was a man that lived in the shadows of his childhood, the maybes of stolen moments. Vernon held Dudley's handle bars as he learned to ride a bike and maybe the car that turned the corner held Dad.

Maybe Dad would come in on his birthday. On Christmas. Maybe Dad would come and tell him how to stand up to Dudley and Piers.

Show him how to throw a punch.

Now he was here, his father, the stranger.

"Try to keep up. You sure you want this? You look too young, kiddo." James called out, shifting from leg to leg, grinning.

Harry expelled a breath, feeling himself burst with warmth, a balloon popping. This was what he wanted most. Dad and him throwing a ball back and forth, exchanging quips.

The ball would be curses and spells. But it would do.

Goddamn, would it do.

Harry smiled at his father. "Pride comes before a fall, old man."

"Old?" James frowned.

Harry snorted. The man was what — nineteen? Twenty? But he was his old man, and that made all the difference.

Harry spun his wand casually between his fingers. He wasn't worried. He'd come a long way from the boy who'd barely beaten Pierre Du Pont, fresh-faced and needing Fiendfyre to win.

Dad wouldn't even know what hit him.

The crowd cleared to the sides of the ballroom. Some of the men took up positions at each quarter, holding their wands aloft like a fire torch, ready to merge their shields together to protect the crowd from spells.

How do I find myself in these positions?

"By chasing every flash of skin." Mei sneered. "A dog with a bone."

"My Nagini adores bones more than any dog." Tom said abruptly.

"Ssh," Harry murmured. "Don't spoil this for me."

The trumpets blew in three changing tones. A musical three-two-one.

The duel was on.

Dad sent across a Rainbow River — seven quick spells of all different colors, a rainbow of seven shades, charms and curses.

The women in the crowd oohed in appreciation.

Harry rolled his eyes — of course Dad was a show off. He wouldn't be outdone, not here.

He Summoned a wine glass from a nearby table and caught each spell inside the glass, using his wand to etch a rune upon the glass. The glass was filled with each color and finally he held a rainbow cocktail, sparking and glowing.

Harry set it on the table with a bow, receiving a round of applause. He fired a chain of spells back at his old man, but James Potter was a Seeker too, with Seeker reflexes — he ducked and dodged every one, leaning so far back that the back of his head was almost touching the floor.

The crowd cheered every dodge.

The tone was set.

Dad conjured a bouquet of wildflowers — the flowers became wilder as they reached Harry, snapping at him with vicious fangs.

Harry turned them into a bouquet of roses and gave them to the nearest lady.

"Such dramatic flair, a heartbreaker indeed." Dad said approvingly. "But is the gentlemen good with pets?"

Dad whipped a white tablecloth off the table without disturbing any of the glassware, receiving a ooh for his efforts. The man snapped a Banisher at the tablecloth, but the white fabric changed in mid-air, becoming a petal, a bird, and then a dog.

"Fuck." Harry muttered as he was set upon a rabid white-sheet dog, like a ghost in a cheap old movie. The dog burned to ashes and the crowd boo'd goodnaturedly.

Dad tutted loudly. "You'll never get a woman like that!"

For one childish moment, Harry wanted to brag, tell his father about all his conquests.

"Look, Dad," He imagined himself pulling the man's sleeve. "Cissy Malfoy bends over the kitchen counter for me so I can fuck her while she cooks."

"I'm so proud, son." The man didn't say.

Harry blinked himself out of his fantasy.

"A lady prefers a man who is proactive." Dad chided, sending a Cutting Charm at the chandelier. The enormous glass fixture crashed to the floor, but instead of smashing to smithereens, it bounced like a trampoline.

A Cushioning Charm — the chandelier turned weightlessly, spinning as Dad swished his wand. Harry just admired his father's wandwork as suddenly, every burning candle was pointed at him, like a medieval rocket launcher.

"Candles can make a night more intimate." Dad wiggled his eyebrows. The women were loving him — no wonder the man was still talked about as a heartbreaker. "But beware of potential fire hazards!"

Predictably, every candle shot at him. Harry wasn't about to act the dartboard for the hundred fiery darts — a simple gust of wind dowsed every candle but he was still covered in burning wax, smoldering his clothes and sparking him with little fires.

The crowd boo'd again — Harry knew from Tom how to win a duel. But how to win a duel of charisma? Tom broke bones and eviscerated organs — he didn't know how to make a crowd smile.

"This chorus of mindless fools angers me!" Tom growled. "Kill your father as I did mine and then rip out their tongues!"

"Your father, at least, was always a man amongst men." Mei said softly.

Harry choked at that.

Dad crossed his arms theatrically. "Has the young Lord Foxham never managed to court a lady? He knows cares not for flowers, pets or candles!"

"Virgin!" One man pointed and laughed.

The crowd roared with cheers. They cheered even louder when one woman semi-ironically pulled her red lacy bra out of her sleeve and threw it at Dad.

Harry stopped himself from pointing at Apolline in the crowd as they mocked him. In the future, the Veela was giggling as she let his balls droop upon her face, inhaling his musk, wondering aloud whether he had yet one more load to paint across her face.

Harry grimaced.

Focus on the here and now. He needed to impress the Veela Queen and Alice, in the background.

Who was he kidding?

He needed to impress Dad, who was jokingly admiring the size of the bra thrown at him.

"Women are a mystery to me still." Harry admitted. "But I know a little about them. I know they love chocolate."

Dad's eyes widened but not in time — the chocolate fountain fell from its table and with a swish of Harry's wand, it sprayed like a geyser, covering Dad from head to toe in brown.

"I'll lick him clean!" One woman shrieked with laughter.

Harry wasn't done. "I know they love to dance. Tarantallegra!"

James was too sticky and chocolate-logged down to dodge it. His legs spasmed, jerking around in a sort of quickstep.

The crowd cheered in appreciation.

Harry summoned the bra Dad dropped as he tried to Finite his dancing legs. The bra had given him an idea — he'd once used Katie's pink bra as a demonstration in a DA meeting, using Bludgers and Sticking Charms on either side of an extended bra-and-cord in order to hoist his target back onto a wall of arrows, a lingerie slingshot.

He didn't want Dad's chest bursting with arrows like that day, but maybe he could use the same effect…

"I know women love jewellery, too." Harry added, jerking his wand in careful motions. The gold chandelier on the floor had 'fired' all of its candles, but it could still be useful.

He sliced the branches of the chandelier and Transfigured them into two thick balls of solid gold, gleaming in the light of the remaining lamps. When each ball extended with a single sharp pin, the crowd murmured with understanding.

"Earrings!" Harry announced.

Dad had washed himself clean and freed himself of the Dancing Feet spell. He licked his chocolate lips. "Milky." Dad frowned. "I've always preferred dark."

His father eyed the large gold earrings warily. "Jewellery should come in a soft velvet box, don't you think?" He quipped.

Harry applied two Sticking Charms to the enlarged bra. "Or a lacy bra?"

"You got a plan to stick me with those sharp things?" Dad asked. "A lady doesn't like surprises, you know."

Taking advantage of Dad's constant narration, he discretely etched a control rune in each of the golden Bludger-earrings.

The bra-and-ball creation got levitated into the air. The crowd clapped, amused.

Dad leaned left and right, smirking — it was like they all knew he could dodge it.

Harry had something up his sleeve. "The last thing I know about women—?"

"—she'll probably want that bra back, you know." Dad quipped to titters.

"They love poetry." He snapped his fingers. "So here's one for you.

Roses are red,

Violets are blue,

'Twas a fun duel,

But now you're through!"

With that, he banished the bra and balls straight at Dad.

Like before, his father leaned back with ease, trusting his athletic form as he did the limbo, back against the ground.

Only Harry had left a control rune on each ball — an invisible rope to his wand. He dropped his wand to the ground…and the ball-and-bra dropped too.

Dad couldn't twist in time.

The bra smacked him straight across the abdomen and, propelled by the banished 'earrings', threw him back against the wall.

The earrings pinned into the wall hard, with Dad between them, entwined by a mammoth bra.

Harry summoned his wand away and held it aloft.

The crowd roared so hard the windows shook. Apolline clapped enthusiastically. Alice whooped from her chair.

"So inventive!" One man cried.

"Terrific showmanship, wouldn't you say?" One hoity-toity man said to another.

"They can both take me out." The woman who'd thrown her bra cried.

Harry approached his father and unpinned the earrings. Dad slid down the wall, bashful.

"Not the first time I've been outfoxed by a tricky bra." He said ruefully. The crowd clapped all the louder — even in defeat, Dad could win the crowd.

"Great duel, Lord Potter." Harry buzzed with adrenaline.

Dad stuck his hand out. "I admire your chutzpah, friend."

Harry felt like time had slowed down. The outstretched hand. Dad's sheepish grin. Would there ever be another time? A better time?

He had to.

He took a breath for courage and grabbed the man in a tight hug.

"Oh, yeah, okay—" Dad muttered, squished in. Harry took a deep breath in, inhaling his father's smell. Chocolate and leather and broom polish.

Of course.

It was just like he'd imagined.

Dad patted his back awkwardly. "Yep, okay, alright."

Harry let him go finally. "Great duel, old man."

The man shook his head, his brows raised. "How old are you? It must be a matter of months between us, if anything. Whatever, just smile and wave, mate." Dad grabbed his arm and held it aloft as they turned for the crowd.

"The ladies love an entertainer." Dad kept his smile wide. "Bet you'll have fun tonight."

"And you love to entertain, right?" Harry asked eagerly. "A showman."

Dad shrugged. "Sure, I guess. But all the fun and the adrenaline, it wears off quick, believe me. Nothing is better than the one girl who understands you, trust me."

"Yeah?"

"Oh, yeah. Find your special girl and make her happy, that's the secret." Dad patted his back. "Take it easy, mate. Maybe I'll get you in the rematch."

"Sure, yeah." Harry watched the man depart, blinking away his stinging eyes. The party returned to normal. He had people in his face chattering away, hands patting his back and shoulder, but he couldn't hear them, feel them.

His legs carried him back to his seat and it was only when he felt a weight in his lap, did he realize he was once again sitting next to the Veela Queen.

"—very entertaining, Lord Foxham. A display of power, a bit of public humiliation and some light bondage. Now we are talking the right fetishes." She smirked.

"Yeah?" Harry cleared his throat. "Does power open up the Queen's court?"

"Not quite." She tutted. "But it helps. Tell me, why did you bring up our ancestral home off Corsica? Few know of it."

Harry shrugged. He couldn't find a lie so he went for honesty. "Heard you wanted it back."

The Queen tilted her head back — her dutiful attendant fed her a purple grape. "The mermaids took it years ago and they simply refuse to discuss giving it back." She waved her hand dismissively. "It matters little."

Harry stared. "But-but I thought it was your beloved home? That the Veela couldn't rest until it was returned?"

The Queen gave him an odd look. "We'd like it very much, but it's been very many years and we've built a new home. A home along the Riviera, a fort. It's probably better, in all honesty. More privacy."

Harry hummed in thought, swigging back his wine. Why did Sofia tell him it was their paradise, if her mother was so relaxed about its return? What did Sofia want? Was it a trick?

"Perhaps you can visit sometime." The Queen said casually. "I imagine my girls would…enjoy you."

He gave her a doubtful look. "After what you've told me about your game of thrones? I'd be worried about a blade in the back."

The Queen's laugh was throaty. "Oh, my Lord. We don't do blades in the back."

"No?"

"A Veela's death comes twice. The little death she rocks you to with the motion of her hips. And as you enjoy that, she draws a blade across your neck." The Queen closed her eyes and sighed with pleasure. "You'll never feel anything but joy."

Harry grimaced. "I suddenly pity the man you had a daughter with."

The Queen giggled, laughing so hard that her cheeks reddened. "Oh, but you and I, we are friends now, no? Nothing to fear."

"Said the spider to the fly."

The Queen's toes stroked at his crotch gently. "The fun in talking power to power, Lord Foxham, is that we can't be sure which of us is the spider." Her feet left his lap and again she pushed his chair away. "Now go. See if the married pregnant woman will spread her legs."

Harry blinked at that. "You aren't, I mean—"

The Queen scoffed. "Call it sisterhood. I can't bear to see such a beautiful woman with such an useless husband."

Dismissed, Harry slowly stood up and trudged back to his table with Alice. The petite woman was drinking mocktails as if they were vodka shots.

"Rejected by the French slut?" She said heatedly.

"I…she asked me to sit with you, actually. We agreed that a beautiful woman shouldn't sit alone."

Alice squinted her eyes. "Not sure I believe you…but you have an honest face. That's the problem."

Harry gestured to the row of empty glasses. "Having a rough night?"

"I miss alcohol." She complained. "I wish this baby would come out, already. He's more of a pain than his father." She sighed. "Soon I'll return to an enormous bed that feels empty, with a husband that snores. I'll wake to being chastised by my mother-in-law, who finds fault in all that I do."

Alice sniffed. "My friends are moving on with their lives. The war is spreading. And I'm so," She wiped at her cheeks. "Desperately alone."

Harry hesitated. He placed a hand on hers. "I can be your friend, you know."

Alice choked out a laugh. "You and I, we'll never be friends." She gave him a meaningful look. "I think you know that."

"What if I do?"

"Ahem." A throat cleared above them. Harry looked up.

Dad.

"Lord Foxham," Dad said, smiling politely. "Alice, I think your husband is looking for you."

"Of course, I was just-yes, about to—" Alice took Dad's hand to help her out of her seat. "Goodnight, Lord Foxham."

"Goodnight." Harry said, meeting his father's eyes as she left.

Dad patted him on the shoulder. "Like I said, mate, find your special girl and make her happy. It's worth it."

Harry swallowed as his father turned his back on him.

He never thought he'd be cockblocked by his own Dad.

"A man of morals." Mei swooned. "A shame his son has fallen so far."

Harry scowled and grabbed the abandoned mocktail on the table, before downing it. It was disgustingly sweet.

"Fuck off, Mei Chang." He muttered.

###

"No, Harry!" Hermione shrieked as he ripped the parchment away from her quill. He'd flown in through her open windows and seen her writing something, a furtive look on her face, clad in only white cotton panties and his Gryffindor Quidditch jumper.

Harry held it aloft and read it quickly as she leapt up repeatedly, desperate to snatch it from him.

Elizabeth bit her lip as he kissed her shoulder, then her neck and then that spot behind her ear. His hand was on her bare bottom with an appalling level of confidence.

Indeed, Mr. Darcy had gained a most untoward sense of arrogance to go along with his experience with her body, ever since their marriage.

That they held each other in the warmest of affections, that their fingers now held the weight of wedding rings, it had all given Mr. Darcy a level of marital entitlement.

Most unbecoming, Lizzy thought, though she did admit that she had contributed to the state of affairs.

Her spirits had been too playful. She had placed her good qualities under his protection and let him tease her at every opportunity.

Which was how it had come to this …

His large hands parted her bottom roughly.

She wriggled nervously, her hands bunching up the lace pillows.

"But, Mr. Darcy, don't you think it's a little improper?"

"Do not distress yourself, Lizzie. Have I not made you the happiest creature in the world?"

"Well, yes—"

"Then let me indulge my imagination."

Elizabeth could scarcely believe that Mr. Darcy was capable of even imagining this, let alone performing it.

She could feel his breath on her thigh and then once more on her …she could not even think it.

"My goodness, Hermione." Harry grinned. "Are you writing erotica?"

She covered her face with her hands.

He peeled her fingers away from her eyes.

"I'm investigating, okay!" She insisted.

"Investigating how wet you can get?"

"No, smartarse." Hermione scowled. "I'm trying to see if there is a romantic way to do it."

"Anal?"

She slapped his shoulder. "You don't need to say it so crudely."

He tackled her into the bed, rubbing his cheek against hers until she smiled once more.

"What did you find out?"

"There is not." Hermione huffed. "Even trying to adopt Austen's writing style, there is no romantic way to perform your perversions."

He stroked her hair gently. "This is important to you, huh?"

"I just wanted to know if it could be done in a loving way." She said quietly. "Not like you did to Daphne, you…you brute!"

Harry snickered. He pulled her onto his chest, stroking her back. "I'd never hurt you, you know."

"I know."

"It wasn't the worst, in the mindscape, was it?" He pinched her asscheeks, thinking of the plug he'd inserted into her rosebud, in the mind.

"I suppose not." She said grudgingly.

"Which color did you think you'd get, when I did it for real?"

Hermione stilled, her face jutting up to look at him warily. "Purple? My favorite color."

Harry shook his head and grinned. He clicked his fingers and, like magic, produced the buttplug, ruby-gemmed and gleaming in the lamplight. "Potter red, because you're mine." He said authoritively. "You belong to House Potter now."

She shivered in his grasp but she lifted her arms obediently when he pulled her jumper away. Her breath got heavier when he peeled her panties down around her toned, dainty ass. It wasn't huge, but it was tight and bouncy as he slapped it.

Hermione buried her face in his shoulder, lying half on his chest while he played with her bottom as he laid on his back.

"Ol' Jane Austen couldn't make it romantic, huh?"

She shook her head, her hair tingling his skin. "Not even with me writing as her."

"Know how I'd write it?"

Her eyes came up to meet his. "No." She said softly.

Harry gave her a reassuring smile. "First," He snapped his fingers. Candles conjured around the bed, floating in the air, their warm light glowing off the curtains of the four-poster bed. "I'd light the candles."

Hermione said nothing, but her eyes gleamed in surprise.

He took her hand and kissed it, each finger. "I wish I could get you a ring to show everyone that you're mine. A ring with a disgustingly huge diamond. You'd show it off to your friends, your parents." He ran his finger down her spine, feeling every goosebump. "You'd hit me on the chest and say it's too large, but secretly you'd love it."

Hermione swallowed a lump in her throat. "Oh, Harry."

"But I can't get you a ring." He said, his eyes distant.

"It's okay—"

"But I know about marriages. In Austen's world, a marriage means a lot, right? Marriage is true happiness and financial standing. It gives them, what do they call it?"

"Felicity." Hermione giggled.

"Right. So, financial standing." Harry showed her the silver-plated buttplug again. "I embedded the largest ruby I could find. If anything ever happens to me, you can sell it off to an Arab sheikh."

Hermione smacked him. "You're so silly. Nothing's going to happen to you."

He held up the ruby plug again. "The gem is special in other ways, too. Look inside."

She gave him an odd look and then did as he asked.

Her gasp was loud. "Oh! It shows…it's me? And you and…oh, Harry. Our children?"

Harry smiled at her delight. "After Tom couldn't figure a way through the Mirror of Erised while in Quirrell's head, it frustrated the hell out of him. He did a lot of research on it, moving from body to body. Eventually, he learned some of its secrets and, well, so did I. The ruby shows what I want most — a future with you." Harry told her.

Hermione wiped at the tears that ran down her cheeks. "I want it too." She cried, staring at the image in the ruby.

Harry kissed her cheek. "So when I put this inside of you, to hold and to keep, to treasure and to help you take all of me, it's a little bit of poetry." He kissed her lips lovingly. "I'm giving you a symbol of my wealth, sure, but it's more a symbol of the future we're working towards. Our future."

Hermione nodded, silent tears dripping from her chin. "Okay, okay." She murmured, trembling.

"I love you." He kissed her reply away.

She kept her eyes on him as he gently parted her bottom, exhaling as the cold silver pressed against her skin. Her fingers dug into his skin as he coated the plug in the wetness of her pussy.

She shuddered and bit her lip as he pushed the plug inside of her, as her rosebud surrendered. She moaned as he slowly twisted the plug in, all the way.

Then, she smiled beatifically, crying happy tears, her beauty stealing his breath. She hugged him tight and squeezed him tighter.

"You like it?" Harry asked.

She nodded, sniffling. Wordlessly, she pulled his trousers down and rose up…only to sink herself down on his hard cock, eager to feel his love. She sank slowly, trembling, her pussy quivering around his shaft, until she was skin to skin with him, creaming onto his groin.

"I love you." She whispered.

"And I you."

"Let me do this for you." Hermione begged.

She placed one hand on his stomach and the other on his thigh as she slowly levered herself up and down, riding him gently, lovingly.

As her pants grew louder, the quiet intimacy was broken by her sudden giggle.

"What?" Harry said, smiling. Dad had been right — find your special girl and make her happy.

There was nothing better.

"Who knew?" She shook with laughter, impaled on his cock. "You seem like a brute but you really can write."