Disclaimer: I do not have any rights of ownership for the characters used except the OC's. All the credit goes to the authors. Only the plot belongs to me.
Chapter 1 – A Day in France
~ With Fleur ~
"So, 'ow was your weekend, Fleur?" her friend, Anna, questioned. A sly smile visible on her face as she saw Fleur's face twitch at the mere mention of her weekend.
"Eventful," the Veela replied, focusing on cutting into her perfectly cooked steak with perfect etiquette, taught by her mother from a young age.
"Okay… so, nothing interesting 'appened?" Anna pressed, wiggling her eyebrows, hinting at what she wanted to know.
"Non, nothing 'appened," Fleur spoke, her voice blank as she chewed on a piece of beef. Délicieux.
"Okay, let me be upfront then. Who is ze 'ot guy?" Anna cut right to her point as she glanced at Sebastian sitting adjacent to her, two seats away. He had chosen to remain in close proximity, regardless of Fleur wishing and commanding otherwise. But he respected her wish and maintained a bit of distance.
Not that it would help. Everyone had seen them enter the hallway together and the boy had been swarmed by hormonal, teenage girls as they pestered him about his whereabouts before he joined Fleur and why had he come to Beauxbatons now, at age 18, instead of joining the school like a regular wizard would at 14.
"A distant cousin who I 'ad no idea existed before seventy-two 'ours," Fleur replied with a dry voice, turning towards her friend, hoping she would get the hint and drop the conversation.
Anna nodded with understanding and decided to dive into her plate as well.
"I did not think you would agree to your father's demands and let 'im assign you a bodyguard," Anna commented as she feasted on the lunch their school had provided them with.
"Papa forced 'is 'and on ze matter. 'E decided that I could 'ave a bodyguard assigned to me or refuse, and 'e would revoke 'is decision on letting me enter ze Triwizard Tournament," Fleur replied, a tone of frustration entering her voice.
"Oh, I did not zink 'e would take such a drastic step wiz 'is darling daughter," Anna spoke, her tone teasing. But Fleur understood why she said that. Anna had warned her before—if she kept up with her tantrums, her father would eventually make a decision that would have overwhelming consequences if she continued to be a brat and undermine him.
"'Ave you tried using your allure on 'im?" Anna suggested, lowering her voice so the rest of the world wouldn't use that piece of information against Fleur.
"Oui," Fleur snapped, annoyance oozing out of her voice. "'E was not fazed at all. Did not even sigh once. Can you believe it?! Not even once!"
Anna backed off a little following Fleur's quiet outburst. "Calm your 'orses, Fleur. Maybe zat is a good zing. You were always worried about your bodyguards losing control over zemselves in close proximity to you, and now you 'ave one who is not bozzered. You got what you asked for."
Fleur didn't say anything, she focused her eyes a few seats over and saw the man in question soaking up the attention of the girls. Flashing that charming smile around like a weapon of destruction against these girls was either his boldest move, or his dumbest. These girls would be fighting with claws for his attention now.
Fleur couldn't blame them. Regardless of her feelings on the matter, her bodyguard was easy on the eyes.
"Ooh!" Anna's excited chirp snapped her out of it and startled the fork out of her hands. "Zis is ze best zing zat could 'ave 'appened for you!"
"Anna, mon dieu! Please do not shout so close to me," Fleur said, picking up her fork again and calming her breath.
"My apologies, love. But listen to me. You 'ave always wanted to find a man who would not be affected by your allure and would like you for you. Well, zere 'e is! And on top of zat, 'e is your bodyguard. Oh la la, zis is like one of zose Muggle movies we read about as children!" Anna babbled with enthusiasm, her expression dreamy.
Fleur did not even wish to imagine what she was thinking about.
"You are impossible, Anna! 'E is younger zan I am. About zree years. It would be… 'ow you say… weird," Fleur said, trying to make her friend understand that not everything was fiction.
"Age is not an issue when it comes to love, Fleur," Anna said, nodding her head as if she had said something extremely wise. "When you are both old and grey, do you zink your age will matter?"
Fleur sighed defeatedly. Her friend could be extremely naïve at times.
"'E is just a stranger, Anna. I do not even know 'im. And 'ere you are, discussing our marriage."
Anna sighed and took Fleur's hands in hers. "I understand what you are saying, Fleur, but you need to see what I am seeing as well. Ze two of you could 'ave somezing great. And 'e seems like a capable man if your father 's assigned you to 'is care. Do not discourage yourself from finding somezing great because you are worried about a stupid zing like age. Both of you are above eighteen. Just… heed my words, okay? It seems like you already 'ave a lot of competition."
What?
Listening to that last sentence, Fleur turned her attention back to her bodyguard, who was still entangled with the harlots that seemed to have nothing else to do. And she could now see what Anna meant.
Two of the girls sat on each side of him, one kept brushing his arm while the other had decided that public decency did not matter and squished her breasts against his other arm. Sebastian either did not care, or he was enjoying the sensation very much.
If she were a teenage boy, would she not care if a girl decided to rub herself against her?
She felt a pang of irritation go through her heart.
What an irony.
The one-time Fleur was intrigued by a man, he was being chased by every other girl except Fleur. This would not do.
She needed to have words with her bodyguard. She needed to know more about him. And she needed to tell him to keep these… sluts away and not let them deter him from his job.
She would think about what Anna said later.
~ With Harry ~
His time at Beauxbatons had been pretty eventful all things considered. It helped when you looked that good and the school was filled with teen girls who soaked up the attention of good-looking men.
Though he had a feeling it wouldn't help him at the moment.
Craning his neck up, his eyes met the dark ones of the headmistress of the Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, one Olympe Maxime. It wasn't his first time seeing a giant, but the ones he was used to wear quite larger and much more grotesque than the lady before him.
'A half-breed,' Harry mused as he sat in silence, watching her eyes judge his worth, no doubt being informed about his station concerning Fleur Delacour.
"Eet is quite unusual for Beauxbatons to receive transfer students," Madame Maxime began after a prolonged silence. "Ze last one, I believe, was about twenty-six years ago. So, imagine my surprise when I receive a missive from ze Ministry, 'requesting' ze admission of one Monsieur Sebastian Gray. Following zat, I get a letter from Jean Delacour, our Minister himself, clarifying ze circumstances."
She took a small pause after that, folding her hands across her large frame.
"You 'ave caused me a bit of a headache, Monsieur Gray. And from what I 'ave observed, quite an upheaval in ze hearts of many young ladies 'ere."
"Let me get straight to ze point, Monsieur Gray. What are your intentions in being 'ere? As a mercenary, I 'ighly doubt zat you require ze education Beauxbatons 'as to offer," she stated, her tone firm.
Without missing a beat, Harry, or Sebastian for now, replied, "I am sure you already know my job here. Beyond that, I have no aspirations to live a normal student life. I am here to protect Miss Delacour from anyone and anything that may try to bring her harm. As for the female attention… I wouldn't be indulging in anything that hasn't been consented by the other party."
Maxime pursed her lips at that last bit, but it looked more like she was trying to stifle her laugh.
"Très bien, Monsieur Gray," Madame Maxime said, her tone low and deliberate. "I suggest you return to your class—and do make sure zat Mademoiselle Delacour remains in good 'ealth. Zere is an important event approaching zis year, one in which Beauxbatons shall participate."
She leaned forward slightly, her gaze sharp and heavy with unspoken authority.
"'Er skill in duelling—and magic as a whole—is not just impressive, it is indispensable. We shall rely on it, Monsieur Gray. So, I expect you to do your duty… impeccably."
He simply smiled at that and nodded his head. As if he would let his client come in harm's way.
'Fools rarely think before they speak, master,' the voice sounded out in his mind. The sound of his protector and companion.
'Good to know you are awake, Wrath. It is the first time I am hearing your voice since we have entered this school,' Harry replied, taking his leave from the headmistress' cabin.
'As you know milord, watching legions of women fawn all over you has never been one of my hobbies,' Wrath said, his tone indicating that this wasn't the first time they were having this conversation.
Chuckling to himself, Harry walked forward and entered the class he was assigned to.
'You can't deny one thing though, my friend. This job is going to be an interesting one.'
~ That Evening ~
The best thing about the Delacour family, apart from the women, was definitely the full-scale duelling chamber in the basement. For Harry, it was the equivalent of Christmas coming early.
Like every evening since he had been stationed here while Grindelwald looked after the Minister, Harry had utilized the duelling chambers to its utmost capacity, like the way it was intended to be used.
Grindelwald's biggest concern had always been the collateral damage Harry's turbulent magic caused, and even after he had awakened Wrath, their sparring led to widespread terrain destruction that required casting Reparo, quite a few times. Something that his mentor was tired of doing.
But when you have a duelling chamber made out of magic resistant marble as well as a self-repairing rune painted across the platform?
Only a fool would not take advantage of this situation.
But it seemed like he was not going to be alone for this session.
"Surprised to see you here, Miss Delacour," Harry said as he entered the chambers, moving towards the platform over which Fleur Delacour was already stretching.
He now understood why she needed a bodyguard. The way she filled out her muggle fitness outfit would make the gayest man in the world stare as well. Harry's occlumency shields were working overtime to prevent him from exposing himself to her in public.
"It is my 'ouse, Monsieur Gray," Fleur said, raising a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at him, eliciting a chuckle.
"Your usual training times are in the early hours of the morning, from 7 to 9 am. So, forgive me for assuming but you are here to either train with me or you have decided to seduce me?" Harry said, standing directly in front of her, looking at her with a sparkle in his eyes. There wasn't any rule against teasing his clients.
'You have done a lot more with some, master,' Wrath quipped in his mind, making Harry stifle a chuckle.
"You wish. I am 'ere to see whezzer you are worthy as a bodyguard when it comes to protecting me and my family," Fleur replied, standing up straight and staring up at him.
"That's cute but I do not fight my clients," Harry said, trying to avoid sparring with her. His control over his magic maybe better but he did not wish to test it in front of an unknown variable. If he lost control, he could seriously hurt the part-Veela, or worse.
"Afraid you will be beaten by a woman?" Fleur taunted, trying to get a rise out of him. "Maybe it is true what they say about you at school. You are just a leetle boy."
'So much for being professional,' Wrath thought, sensing the change in his lord. The Veela had succeeded in provoking the Obscurus' master into a display of strength and skill. He just hoped his master would not lose control.
The duelling chamber of the Delacour's glittered under enchanted lanterns, throwing lighting the polished marble floor. The air thrummed with magic—charged, heavy, anticipatory. Wards shimmered faintly in the corners, ready to neutralize any spell that got out of hand.
Harry stood at the far end of the duelling ring, relaxed, his wand loosely gripped in one hand. His stance was too casual for Fleur's taste, and that easy smile on his face only made her jaw tighten.
He wasn't even trying to look focused. Was this a joke to him?
"Ready, Fleur?" Harry asked, brows arched, as if he were asking her to a tea party.
"Toujours prête," she replied crisply, flicking her wand into a sharp salute. "Do not go easy on me, monchéri. I would hate to see you cry when I win."
The smirk that touched his lips was maddening.
"I'll try not to embarrass myself," he said, giving her a half-bow. "Ladies first."
Fleur didn't hesitate.
"Confringo!"
The Blasting Curse ripped through the space between them. Harry sidestepped with infuriating ease, barely flicking his wand to cast a silent Protego, and the spell fizzled out harmlessly.
She launched a flurry of spells—Expelliarmus, Stupefy, Incarcerous, Bombarda Maxima—and each one he danced around like it was a simple exercise. No counterattack. No aggression. Just evasion, like she was a child swinging wildly at a ghost.
"Are you going to fight," she snapped, breath hitching, "or are you just going to twirl around and waste both our time?"
Harry finally cast back—a single, deliberate Depulso. The force behind it knocked her off her footing, and she stumbled back two steps, more surprised than hurt.
"Oh, I'm fighting," he said calmly, walking toward her, "I just don't need to shout and flail to do it."
Fleur growled, red flushing her cheeks. His patronizing tone was like nails on glass.
"Ta gueule! You think you are so superior, hmm? I bet zis is ze only way you keep your fragile little ego alive—fighting women."
Harry's green eyes glinted, unreadable.
"I don't need to beat you to prove anything. But you seem desperate to prove something to me."
Her grip tightened around her wand. "Impedimenta!"
Harry batted the spell away. He was in motion now—not just dodging but closing in. Each of his steps was precise, fluid, confident. Fleur tried to shift back and widen the distance, but his Protego Totalum locked her next three spells out like glass on steel.
"Come on," she spat. "What's ze matter? Afraid, leetle boy?"
She swung her wand to unleash a chain of fire, her Veela heritage enhancing the spell's power, twisting into a snake-like coil—but Harry stepped into it. A twist of his wrist, and Aguamenti Maxima drowned the flame mid-air, steam hissing around them. She barely had time to react before he sent a non-verbal Expelliarmus her way, and she had to roll out of its path.
She came up panting, her braid whipped around her shoulder, her heart pounding.
Harry was right in front of her now, wand pressed lazily to her chest.
"You're fast," he said. "But you're too emotional. You tell your opponent where your spells are going before you even cast them, making it easy for anyone with enough experience to deduce where you will be moving next."
"Do you always talk this much when fighting?" she growled, attempting a sudden Petrificus Totalus.
But Harry was already behind her. She didn't even see the movement—only felt the tip of his wand press lightly into the small of her back.
"Yield."
She turned sharply, her wand half-raised again, teeth clenched. "Jamais!"
Harry didn't move. "Are you done trying to impress me?"
"I am trying to beat you," she hissed.
"And yet," he murmured, raising his wand slowly to her throat, "here we are."
Fleur's wand clattered to the floor a second later. Not because she wanted to admit defeat—but because her wrist was gently but firmly locked in place by a binding charm she didn't even feel being cast.
Her breath came hard, chest heaving, and Harry's eyes—just for a second—flicked downward. Not lasciviously. Tactically. She was winded.
She stared at him, breathless, furious, humiliated… and something else.
"Putain de merde," she whispered under her breath. "You arrogant bastard."
Harry shrugged and offered his hand to help her stand fully upright. "You're good. Very good. But there's more to fighting than power and style."
She slapped his hand away but didn't move to attack again.
"I do not need your pity."
"It wasn't pity," he said, smiling faintly. "It was respect."
Fleur looked away sharply, lips pressed into a thin line. Her pride was bruised, but somewhere beneath the irritation, a strange spark simmered.
He hadn't belittled her. He'd simply… outclassed her. And that made her feel something inside that she did not believe she would ever feel for a man.
Admiration.
~ Appoline Delacour ~
It seemed her daughter was finally getting the dose of reality she so desperately needed.
Appoline Delacour had watched the entire duel unfold, arms crossed, eyes sharp. Fleur had fought well—better than most girls her age—but that wouldn't mean anything in the real world. Not when the enemy was an assassin or mercenary who wouldn't hesitate to cast the Killing Curse the moment they laid eyes on her.
And being a Veela?
That was considered a mercy, compared to what they'd do if they got their hands on her.
Fleur needed to learn. To be humbled. Being one of the best at Beauxbatons was meaningless when faced with killers bred for war. She needed to understand why they hired people for protection.
Appoline's eyes flicked toward the boy.
He impressed her.
Being a Veela had its advantages. The ability to sense magical energy was one all Veela possessed—but few mastered. She had. It was what drew her to Jean, after all. He had been a lion with a wand in his prime, and she'd felt it before she ever saw him duel.
But this boy… This boy surprised her.
His magical signature was dense. Heavy. Yet he was holding back. And the control—such control—for someone his age? Remarkable.
And then she felt it.
A dark, suffocating undercurrent in his aura. She wouldn't have noticed it if he hadn't been focused—on the fight, and more importantly, on not hurting her daughter.
But now that she did feel it, she couldn't ignore it.
The sheer pressure of his magic made her breath hitch. It rolled through the air—dominant, territorial. She hadn't felt anything like it before.
She had meant only to supervise. Perhaps chastise. But now, watching the way he moved—silent, lethal, restrained—Appoline felt her blood stir. Not in pride. Not in relief. In something darker.
And what unsettled her most was the disturbing fact that it was not fear.
It was desire.
Her reaction wasn't logical. It wasn't even maternal. It was primal. She couldn't remember the last time a wizard's magic had done that to her.
She needed to know more.
She needed to understand what—or who—Sebastian Gray really was.
And whether he could fill the growing void her husband was quietly leaving behind.
Author's Note
Fleur's becoming more and more interested in our boy. And it wouldn't really be a fic by me if it did not include some action. And who better than Veela MILF to kick things off. I haven't decided on a harem exactly so drop your suggestions below. In the coming days I might post a poll to see who all should be included. I think about 5-6 girls should be good enough.
I am still learning on how to write good fight scenes so if someone has suggestion on how to improve, I would love to hear them out.
Until next time. See ya.