From a Bird’s Eye View

IMPORTANT: Double Chapter Release in Sheo.bio (11 chaps ahead)

(A/N: This Chapter is dedicated to my fellow amateur writers, the good ones I mean. *Spitting at the tortured soul of GhostyZ* and to my faithful readers who smashed the ads, we don't have power stones or *shiver* paywalls, here that's the equivalent. It'll become much more meaningful once phases 3 and 4 start, not to mention phase 5…you'll love that one believe me.)

Fleur Delacour had once thought her life was boring.

Key word being once.

There was a time when it fell into routine for months on end, sometimes years. Always the same battles, same looks, same thoughts, and same comforts.

A life that echoed her mother's, and one her sweet Gabrielle would soon suffer.

In the end her own existence was rather boring, a barely changed replica of something done hundreds of thousands of times.

The witch with so much beauty she could no longer care for it, receives countless compliments on her appearance when all she wanted was someone recognizing her personality and achievements. The first was an impossibility, so she ensured the latter. Compensated with a great work ethic and overwhelming focus until she realizes it brought her nothing but isolation.

The typical 'I'm Not Just a Pretty Face' story.

Admitting it would be a huge blow to her pride, so she kept this knowledge deep inside where no one mentions it so she can safely ignore it.

Not the best course of action, but mental health wasn't really a concept in the wizarding world. If you were functional enough to live then you were fine, otherwise, you're in for a lifelong stay in the mental health ward of the nearest hospital.

But for one single year, things changed.

In an ideal world, she'd say it started in Hogwarts with the Triwizard tournament, but life very much wasn't.

Instead, it started at the Quidditch World Cup. Or rather, the disastrous follow-up when she'd seen for the first time the kind of madness the British were up to. They had bigotry in magical France, plenty of it in fact. But it was a shameful one, hidden and kept in the glances and subtle jabs and poor literature.

'Not dozens of pureblood terrorists crashing an international event for absolutely no reason.'

They were ridiculous, and not only because it led to Fleur and her sweet sister being separated from their families, surrounded by what she now knew to be the fleeing remnants of the supposed Death Eaters and being helped by an overgrown bird and some scary wizard with a grudge.

Before she could even fully process it, she was trying out to be part of her school's delegation heading to Britain because of course she would.

A couple weeks later she reasserted her position at the top of the pecking order and was once more on her way for the cold, dark, and barbarous land that is Britain.

She expected many things from it: Powerful lunatic wizards who ran the world, a large collection of purebloods who read a couple books on Veela and now claimed to be experts in those dark creatures and horrendous weather.

By Merlin she did get them.

What she very much wasn't expecting was a curious looking boy who was dead set on intriguing her. That, or it was his life's mission to embarrass her all day every day.

'I wouldn't have it any other way.'

It started with him completely ignoring her allure, but he wasn't the first to do that. She would have written it off had she not recognized him as the child who had the guile to give a lecture about their race in front of her and her mother…although it was a flattering and largely accurate one, it still wasn't the best first impression.

More so when the only exchange they had was him telling her he was too arrogant to fall for her allure, vexing her innate magic in a way he wouldn't understand.

An interesting first impression, but not a good one.

Still, she was in a land full of bigots, fools and cold with little to nothing to keep her busy until the tournament started. The flunkies who flocked around her were not selected as part of the small delegation, and those that did come were more of the highly competitive or narrow-minded fool with more political agendas than coherent thoughts and feelings.

So Fleur did the next best thing, channeled her inner Miss Marple and endeavored to pierce the secret of that overly confident little boy.

'I wasn't about to start socializing with barbarians, and I was tired of sending so many letters back home.'

It wasn't because she felt lonely, and the letters only made her longing for home that much stronger. She wasn't so easily affected, not Fleur Delacour.

Detective work was foreign to her, but it ought to at least be amusing. The Veela was bound to shine in it, as she did in all things.

So she watched from afar, aloof as she always was. It kept the idiots at bay, for the most part. And those so foolish as to try their luck were rebuffed easily, she only needed a few words to break their spirits and verbally unman them.

The boy was Magnus Black, the son of the no-longer so infamous Lord Sirius Black, head of the most ancient and noble house of Black and master of all its treasures, oaths and bloods.

More known for being wrongfully imprisoned for thirteen years, only being released once his son of all people, who masqueraded as a muggleborn, arranged his release through the only way such a high-profile prisoner's guilt could be questioned.

Catching the actual suspect.

'A story that would fit right in Papa's novels.' She thought wryly.

Little was publicly known about the case, the details of Peter Pettigrew's capture were not revealed as the heir apparent had claimed the usage of some House Magic, a wise move that was strangely easy to do given the high number of British and international laws protecting the secrets of the blood.

The trial had been public, per the request of the then representative of House Black and it's Heir regent, Andromeda Tonks née Black as well as the head of the DMLE in a way no one could predict.

Unless they spent enough time in Hogwarts to know the story between Black and Susan Bones, it involved very poor calls and peer pressure leading to a badger actually deserting a friend…which she regretted deeply once a few truths were revealed.

A common joke in the halls was that if Magnus wanted a pet, Susan would become an animagus.

The trial in itself had been well documented and articles had been written in many countries member of the ICW for obvious reasons. Her father had been very interested in it, though she only shared his interest much, much later.

It was funny, really. The more she delved into that rabbit hole called Magnus Black, the more curious she became.

(Un)fortunately, Fleur soon realized her confidence in her investigation skill was misplaced. She had been spotted by everyone and their mother's, and soon this school's overwhelmingly powerful rumor mill worked hard to weave the most impossible tales known to wizardkind with the two of them as the main cast.

It meant her fan club got jealous, her haters obtained more ammunition and the most dreadful prospect of all at the time…

He knew.

Magnus Sirius Black was aware of every single move she had made, every second she spent spying on him, every inquiry she had made with that 'discretion' of hers.

Yet he did not care.

Anyone else in his shoes would've been ecstatic, how many could claim they wouldn't want the beautiful school champion interested in them? Some others would have been mad, frustrated by her admittedly wrong actions.

But he did none of that.

The boy barely acknowledged her existence, much less her actions. The only thing she stirred in him was amusement and at times annoyance, but even then she knew it came from the duels and jealous fits of her so-called admirers.

Fleur had never been…disregarded, to that extent. She had been hated, envied, pitied, desired and all sorts of emotions she very much did not want to sense but her magic showed her anyways.

But complete disregard, that was new.

And like a clueless little chick who found something interesting, she couldn't help but come closer and closer all the while knowing it wouldn't end well.

It was irrational, but Veela were strange like that.

'At least that's what maman says.' She felt the same way at times but denied it with passion more often than not.

Appoline wasn't one to lie, but their kind did not need any more bad image than they already have.

Fleur was only thankful that the woman had enough shame not to talk about the way she used to steal abnormal amounts of her now-husband's clothes to store them all around her room…at least, in public.

'I was bound to get burned eventually.'

And burned she was, Magnus had caught her red handed while she spied on him under the guise of an 'objectively' perfect disillusionment charm.

Even now, she could feel her cheeks burning in shame.

Again, her mind had betrayed her by following him to a room in front of Merlin knows how many gossip ready students. It wasn't her fault, how was she supposed to run away chin high when the answers she had been seeking were about to be answered? She couldn't help it!

The answers of which questions? Fleur had no clue, that strange eyed boy who at times felt older than her was like a walking unreasonably attractive question mark clad in a mystery wrapped in an enigma.

A riddle she wanted to solve, alas it was much harder than expected.

Magnus could single handedly revolutionize the wizarding world's grasp on psychology…which wasn't saying much with how flimsy it was. But he was good! A few minutes with him and she was spilling her guts to someone she barely knew.

Sure there was the whole 'Proving I'm not a stalker…not that kind of stalker.' intent loosening her lips. That and the fact that the boy could read through her like an open book with no mind arts involved, not that it'd work on a full-grown Veela.

Fleur didn't know when she started enjoying herself, nor why she kept coming back until he himself confessed to valuing her company.

An achievement, the first time they met that boy was as emotionally involved as a block of ice, now it was more along the line of a rock with personality.

But it happened, and she did not regret it. How could she? With how much laughter, surprises and cheer, the unbridled joy he brought in her life. The Veela got used to him, his antics and offensive humor were by now part of her daily life.

They learned together, and she rejoiced at her luck. Finding someone who was content to sit by her side, book in hand while they both studied the arcane was a dream come true.

They laughed together, even if it involved abnormally crass jokes and dark humor the likes of which her mother would never allow in her presence.

They danced together: and there was no way she'd let him get away with but a single evening of that wonderful feeling, she was Fleur Delacour, after all.

Magnus might've brought her an unreasonable amount of embarrassment, enough teasing to make her red faced and giddy, a plethora of highly confusing feelings she knew he shared but was like her too afraid to process them anytime soon.

But she'd always thank her lucky stars that she met someone like him.

'That's not true, there's no one like him.'

Yes, she was lucky to know Magnus Black.

…

In the East, where the wizards of the world had no say in the rules of the land. Deep in the woods, where the dark forces of this plane converged with mighty fervor. Down in a cave, made through the magic of a single supreme sorcerer bold enough to overcome death.

That same man…no, he was no longer a mere man. Nor was he a wraith, or a fool. He was a lord, born from the blood of Salazar Slytherin himself.

As befits of his station, he sat on a throne of dark stone and spell-bound silvers. High atop stairs he'd carved from his will alone, so that might see the first of his domain in the way of sovereigns.

It was a humble realm for someone as exalted as him, an immortal, the word itself was pleasing. He had no manor and no keep, not even a mere castle where he might rest and administer his conquests.

Nothing but hard rocks, heavy metals to be exploited. Magical fungi and plants of the dark, to both sustain the potion-making station he'd gifted to his most loyal servant so that he may serve him better, and create some value to fund the campaigns to come.

"Barty." He said, his voice raspy, an effect of the many potions he'd taken to make his new form more…docile.

"Yes, my lord." A good-looking young man bowed as he came closer, he was the picture of a gentleman of pure blood if not for the slightly crazed look in his eyes…or perhaps it made him even more exemplary? It did not matter, he was loyal.

How far he'd come, that poor boy was dirty and weak when he'd summoned him. Stained with his own shite, smelling like the meanest of trolls, filled with bruises and cuts, and suffering great pain.

"You ssssarcifissed much for me, Barty, it shall not be forgotten." He promised, one day this servant of his will enjoy a life of luxury and power as he deserved.

A part of him whispered that it was the least he could do, was even affronted at how he dared to approach him so dirty and weak. Another was similarly repulsed by his appearance but did enjoy the attention and admiration.

But he wasn't but the sum of his parts, he was so much more….so much more.

"Thank you, my lord, it was nothing but my duty." Barty bowed once more, happy to see his efforts acknowledged.

The lord nodded, gracefully accepting his retainer's words.

"It is time, for too long this land has stayed unaware, clueless of the forces that now rule it." He said, raising his chin and making his naturally curly hair move, he regretted not having a mirror to admire his own beauty.

Alas, sacrifices had to be made to protect his dignity.

And how dignified he was, how admirable of a being was this lord sorcerer! Returned to the world of the living in a vessel worthy of his greatness!

The stain on his mind was cleansed.

The spirit of Gilderoy subsumed.

"Let the world tremble, for Lord Voldemort walks once more." He smiled, basking in the admiration of his single follower.

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Hey guys! It's Uncle Sheo!

Yup, that's one long chapter isn't it? I had loads of fun making it to be honest, hell I feel like I could write another one…just kidding I'm beat, the creative mojo isn't plentiful enough to produce two large chapters in one day, not without taking something extra.

Should I ask Einlion? Nah, I'm a proud natty.

Anyways, hope you liked the chapter. Thanks for your support!

Tune in next time for another chapter of Eagle Soars, goodnight!

….and don't forget

Peace and Cheese!