“What eez wrong?” Green eyes blinked, shaken from their stupor by the voice. Harry turned from the lake, glancing up. Silvery hair filled his view. He leaned back, eyes raking over the individual who had disturbed his solitude. Fleur Delcour smiled brightly at him. She indicated a spot beside him, “May I seet down?” Confused, he nodded absently. Her smile brightened, and she settled down on the grass beside him, leaning back on her hands as she sighed, staring out over the lake. The sun had begun to set, casting the sky in hues of orange and red. Its rays sparkled off the waters of the lake, a scintillating display of lights. The pair sat there in silence, the wind whistling around them. Fleur spoke first. “You deedn’t answer my question.” Harry cocked his head, “uh… what?” She giggled, her voice soft, musical, “My question from beefore zeelly. What eez wrong?” His eyes narrowed, vivid greens searching, “Why… why do you care?” She shrugged, her hair shifting over the powder blue of her uniform. “I do not know. Eez it wrong to ask?” He contemplated that. Was it? “No.. I suppose its not,” his voice was soft. “So… what ‘appened?” He sighed sadly, bringing his knees up to his chest, his arms wrapping around them as he spoke, his tone vulnerable, “It… happened again?” “It?” “The… ostracizing. The whole school has turned against me again, just like in second year. Everywhere I go, they whisper and comment and shun me. Everyone believes that I put my own name in the goblet. They don't care if I deny it, they don't care that they’ve done the same thing before, because I’m just an ‘attention seeking, spoiled brat’,” he scoffed, his voice laced with disgust and sorrow, “It… hurts.”
The silence stretched on. “Here, have a cookie.” Harry blinked, his eyes focusing on the baked treat his silvery haired companion had shoved in his face. “What?” Fleur chuckled nervously, “well… whenever I’m feeling down, a cookie always helps cheer me up. Maman always makes the best cookies, so warm and delicious. It's like… edible happiness, going down your throat.” Tentatively, he reached out, plucking the cookie from her grasp. “I’ve never had a cookie before,” he admitted, glancing over the treat, “I’ve seen them, but… never really tasted one. Thank you.” She gasped dramatically, “No! You’ve never had a cookie before?! You have no idea what you’re missing. Go ahead, try it!” Slowly, the raven haired boy bit into the cookie. His eyes lit up in childlike wonder as he chewed, staring at the cookie in his hand in awe. “Ish goood!” She chuckled as he proceeded to scarf down the cookie, moaning slightly at the wonderful taste. “For what its worth, I believe you.” Harry’s eyes widened, as he turned to her. She chuckled, reaching out to pat his head, “You’re a good person, ‘Arry. I do not believe you would lie about zees. And… I’m zorry about zis.” He smiled happily at her, before returning to his treat. He never her features twist into a vicious, victorious smirk.
Part 2
“Please Mistress! Please!” Fleur Delacour gazed dispassionately down at the trembling, pathetic form, all that remained of the boy that had once been known as Harry Potter, grovelling at her feet. Intense disgust flickered across her face, as she contemplated his request. The sixteen year old boy glanced up at her, his eyes filled with desperation and need as he begged, “Please mistress! I need it, please please pleasepleasepleaseplease….”” She brought one dainty finger up, tapping her lips in thought, “Well… you have been such a good boy recently.” She flinched at the pathetic hope that welled up in his eyes. “Alright, you can have one.” She reached into her bag, and pulled out a cookie. It was identical to the one she had given him that day, two years ago, by the lake, as they had watched the sunset. Right down to the same addictive drugs laced through the baked treat. The boy’s green eyes widened, as he panted, drooling, focused on the cookie in her hand. The door to the room creaked open as her fist closed around the cookie, crushing it. She turned her head slightly, catching sight of her father as he entered the room, nodding slightly, “Father.” “Daughter,” Sebastian Delacour nodded, his blue eyes cold and dispassionate as he watched her offer the crushed bakery to the grovelling, raven haired boy, who began to eagerly lick it off her fingers, an expression of genuine joy on his face. The older man’s lips quirked, satisfaction stealing across his face as he eyed the pair. “You’ve trained him well ,daughter.” “Thank you,” Fleur replied. She paused, a look of regret settling on her features, “I… do wish sometimes that something like that wasn't necessary.” Her father’s hand settled on her shoulder.
“It is truly regrettable to have to bring a human so low,” he said, insincerity dripping from his words, “Unfortunately, it was necessary. The power and prestige that the Boy Who Lived will bring to our family will be absolutely integral going forward.” She steeled her expression, “Of course.” He patted her back, his expression prideful, “I am happy that you are willing to do what has to be done, daughter. You truly do understand. For the family, no act is too low, no price too high. For the Family, we do what we must.” She nodded grimly, “Yes father. For the Family.” Abruptly, she flinched back, pulling back her hand, her eyes filled with anger. Her hand lashed out, viciously backhanding the raven haired boy who knelt before her. “Did you just… bite me?” she asked, her voice dangerously low. As the boy whimpered, she stepped forward, her foot burying itself into his gut. He exalted explosively, curling up, his whimpers increasing. “If you would excuse me, Father,” she snarled, “It appears someone needs some punishment.” “Of course,” Sebastian said, “Do take your time.” Nodding, he turned on his heel, exiting the door.
Part 3
Warning. Not for the faint of heart
Fleur stood still, staring down at the pathetic figure of the Boy Who Lived, curled up at her feet, whimpering, as her father’s footsteps receded down the hallway. As the footsteps faded away, she reached into her bag. Her hand emerged, wand held in her dainty grip. Her wand flickered, layering privacy charms on the room, ensuring no sound would be able to escape its confines. She dropped to her knees, reaching out cup the raven-haired boy’s chin, turning it to face her. “Are you okay, ‘Arry? I didn't ‘urt you too much, did I?” The boy blinked, hazy green eyes clearing instantly, his gaze sharp and clear as he smiled at her. “Of course not. I’m fine, Fleur.” She sighed explosively, relieved. Leaning back, she pulled him into her bosom, as she fussed over him, checking for any injuries. Harry relaxed into her embrace, his arms wrapping around her, as the glamor she had laid upon him finally faded away, his emaciation disappearing to reveal his healthy figure, revelling in her care. “I’m so sorry you have to go through this, ‘Arry,” she muttered as they lay on her bed a few hours later, his head in her lap as her fingers carded through his raven locks. He smiled lovingly up at her, his hand coming up to cup her cheek, “For you Fleur, I would go through so much more. This is nothing.” She nuzzled into his palm, blushing prettily. “Any way, you are not the one at fault here, love,” he murmured, “Your father is.” Her beautiful face twisted into a visage of hatred at his words, “You’re right. That piece of filth. ‘For the Family’ my perfectly formed arse. Gods how I wish I could… I could… I want to see him hurt. See him bleed, and despair, knowing his pain is because of his ‘perfect’ heir, and be able to do nothing about it."
Harry got up, wrapping his arms around the blonde, pulling her to his chest as he pressed his lips to the crown of her head, “I swear to you Fleur, you will. You will see him feel all that, and more. Just… not yet. You have to be patient, as I am. Can you do that, love? For me?” She nodded into his embrace, “For you. It… it just hurts me, seeing you have to even act like that, like… some kind of pathetic addict.” He smiled sadly, “We do what we have to, Fleur. Besides, I am an addict. Those cookies you make are delectable.” She giggled, shifting to straddle him, “Of course they are! I do lace them after all.” “Oh?” he arched an eyebrow, grinning, “May I ask with what?” “My love for you, of course,” she replied, leaning forward to pepper his face with featherlight kisses. “You were right, you know,” he told her as she leaned back for air, green eyes staring earnestly, full of warmth and care. “Hm?” “Your arse is perfectly formed,” he smirked. Fleur gave him a salacious smirk, descending to capture his lips with her own, “Mister Potter, how do you always know the right thing to say?”