I eased open the door to the Room of Requirement, and as always, the space had anticipated my needs, reshaping itself into a practical training chamber. The same layout that I had been using to teach Hermione and Harry the past weeks. Having told Fleur about how to access the room and the thoughts to get this exact setup she was already there, waiting near one of the dummies, her wand held loosely in one hand as she absentmindedly traced a finger along its padded surface. She looked up at the sound of me opening the door, her silvery-blonde hair shifting around, as those piercing blue eyes met mine with a flicker of something—anticipation, perhaps, laced with a nervousness she tried to mask behind her usual tsundere persona.
"Ethan," she said, her voice carrying the usual French lilt that always seemed to wrap around the edges of my thoughts. "You are here sooner than I expected. Shall we begin?"
Closing the door behind me with a soft click, feeling the wards seal seamlessly, creating an invisible bubble where the outside world—and its endless prying eyes—couldn't intrude. "I'm always ready for a good challenge, especially with you. But before we get into the lesson, I've got a feeling you might already have the inside scoop on the first task. Dragons, right? I teased her with a raised eyebrow.
She hesitated for a moment, her fingers tightening briefly on her wand before she let out a quiet sigh, slipping it into the side of her workout clothes. Her gaze met mine with a look of longing, as well as vulnerability in it, a quiet test of the trust we'd been building. "Oui... Madame Maxime showed me yesterday. The Hungarian Horntail, the Swedish Short-Snout, the Chinese Fireball, and the Welsh Green—one for each champion. It is scary, Ethan, more than I care to admit." She took a small step closer to me, her voice dropping to a near-whisper. "But I feel I can tell you. You do not look at me as if I am fragile, or as if my words are just pretty air. You listen."
I nodded, appreciating the weight of that admission a clear violation of the tournament rules—it wasn't something she handed out lightly, not with the walls she'd built from years of being seen as more allure than substance. "Trust like that means a lot Fleur. I just want you to know that it goes both ways. So, what's your strategy? What's your plan to stare down a dragon and walk away the winner?"
Fleur uncrossed her arms, her posture shifting from guarded to thoughtful as she gestured vaguely in the air, as if sketching the scene in her mind. "I plan to charm it into slumber. A potent Confundus Charm, layered with a soothing lullaby incantation to deepen the trance. If I can slip close enough, it should doze long enough for me to do whatever is required of me before it wakes...."
It was a clever approach, playing to her natural grace and Veela magic, but I could already see the issues—dragons were wild forces, not easily lulled into dropping their guard, and any interruption could turn a nap into a nightmare. "That's a good idea; it leverages what you're best at—subtlety and allure. But beasts like that don't commit to sleep without a fight; they're hardwired for threats, and any random noise from the crowd could shatter the spell if they sense the ruse. You'd be left dodging flames mid-dive." I drew my wand smoothly, tracing a series of interconnected runes in the air that materialized as a glowing blue diagram, hovering between us like a hologram. "Let me refine it for you. I call this Draconis Veil. You lead with a targeted illusion—, infused with a greed glamour to hook its instincts like a fish on a line. As it charges for the bait, you counter with a binding curse—not a blunt Stunner, which might just enrage it further as they have high magical resistance, but conjured iron vines that snake out from the ground, coiling around the wings and muzzle to pin it in place without fully knocking it out. That buys you a solid ten to fifteen seconds to snatch the real objective and disengage, all while keeping your distance until the last possible moment."
Fleur leaned in to examine the diagram, her shoulder brushing mine in a way that sent a subtle tingle through my body, her eyes tracing the interlocking lines with genuine fascination. "You crafted this yourself? It is... ingenious, it's hard to think you are hardly much older zan me. The vines—they would hold against a Horntail's thrash?"
Smirking back I replied "Just tested it against a conjured horntail model last week; the bindings flexed but didn't break, they should give you a clean window every time to act. Now, let's walk through it hands-on. Demonstrate the lure motion for me—no wands, just the flow. Pretend that dummy's your objective and run the plan through with me.
We moved to the center of the mat, falling into a loose circle at first, the air between us warming with the tension. Fleur started with her usual fluidity, gliding forward in a low stance, her hand extended as her cleavage was exposed hmm quite the distraction indeed..., her hips swaying just enough to mimic the tantalizing pull of the bait. I used a magical golem to simulate the dragon's lunge, as she attempted to implement the new spell—her wand lighting up as she attempted to cast it. She twisted away with impressive speed, silver hair whipping behind her, but I kept pace, the golem tapping her elbow lightly to represent a sweeping tail strike. Sweat began to glisten on her forehead after a handful of passes, her breaths coming a touch quicker, but there was an undercurrent I couldn't ignore: her eyes kept drifting to my face, her spells landing with less conviction than they should, as if her focus splintered every time our paths crossed too near.
On the next try, she feinted right as the vines held the golem but held the lunge a fraction too long, her gaze lingering on my mouth before she corrected, and I sidestepped without much effort. "Alright, let's pause," I said, her breathing a little heavier now, standing close enough that I could catch the faint smell of perfume and sweat clinging to her skin. "Your technique's flawless on paper— that grace would have a dragon chasing ghosts. But you're not all in. You're distracted, big time. What's on your mind? You have any go-to methods for clearing your head?—Occlumency, maybe?"
She averted her gaze for a moment, her cheeks turning red as her fingers twisting the edge of her shirt. "Occlumency, yes—on a basic level. Maman taught me the fundamentals: simple shields to ward off crude intrusions, the sort of thing that keeps out wandering eyes at galas or in the halls. But today... it is not holding. My thoughts wander too much."
I watched her closely, the pieces falling into place—the persistent flush, the way her eyes kept snapping back to mine like they were magnetized, that subtle charge in the air whenever we got within arm's reach. It all added up. "The basics are a solid start; they keep the wolves at bay. Let me help you build on that. I've got an old ritual from some family grimoires—it's a mind-weave technique, but I can enhance it with a linking ability I picked up along the way. It'll flood you with knowledge and experience, anchor points to steady your focus, it will even draw from my own knowledge if it works. With it we can leapfrog your Occlumency to my level, you up for it?"
She held my eyes for a long beat, then nodded, a small, tentative smile tugging at her lips as she released the tension in her shoulders. "I trust you with it, Ethan. More than I have trusted anyone here."
Giving her a nod we lowered ourselves cross-legged onto the mat, our knees brushing in a contact that sent a faint, unexpected spark up my leg as I began tracing the ritual circle around us with a line of salt from a pouch at my belt—the grains ignited into a soft, encircling glow of white light, humming faintly. "Breathe in sync with me, nice and even. On three, just ease the walls down a notch—no full drop, just a crack." Her hands found mine, warm and slightly damp with the residue of our sparring, her pulse rapid under my thumbs like a caged bird. One—her blue eyes held steady on mine, unflinching. Two—the runes pulsed brighter, the linking thread weaving in like a thread of warm silk between us. Three—we crossed the threshold.
The connection bloomed like stepping into a sun-warmed pool—her mind unfolding around me in a cascade of unfiltered impressions. It started with surface ripples: echoes of our first spar, my arm steady around her waist in that near-fall, the hot press of my body against hers igniting a spark that lingered like embers inside of her. Then the images changed, pulling me into more intimate settings—nights spent alone in the dim confines of her room, the sheets tangled around her legs as her she touched herself, breath ragged and uneven while she imagined my image above her, silver hair spilling wild across the pillows, her body arching in desperate need as she called out my name. The rawness of it stirred something primal in me, a low heat uncoiling in my gut that had me shifting subtly on the mat to steady myself.
But the mate bond hit next, crashing through like a tidal wave: an ancient Veela instinct, raw and unyielding, to mark me as her mate—a bond that demanded consummation to fully ignite, weaving our magics into an unbreakable weave where rejection would carve agony into her very essence, and acceptance would bind us eternally, our magics forever intertwined. It was fierce, possessive, a call that resonated deep in my copied essences, echoing with a power that felt both foreign and inevitable.
Beneath the passion, though, lay the darker memories: the leering Ministry officials at formal events, as their hands lingering too long on her arm or waist, voices slurring with drink as they muttered about "exotic little birds needing a proper cage," her Veela charm twisting into a weapon that forced her to smile through the revulsion just to escape. The Beauxbatons corridors alive with gossip hidden behind smiles—"half-breed temptress, dragging pure lines into the mud"—lust from boys who saw her as a conquest to boast about, purist sneers dismissing her as "tainted Veela stock, never wizard enough for real society," her beauty a perpetual double edged sword of desire and disdain that left her somewhat jaded.
Fleur wrenched back with a sharp gasp, the link fracturing like thin ice underfoot. Her face flushed a deep crimson, eyes wide with embarrassment as she scrambled to her feet, nearly stumbling in her haste. "Non—Ethan, I am so sorry, that was never meant to be seen—"
"Easy, Fleur—wait." I rose quickly but kept my movements slow, reaching out to catch her wrist with a gentle grip that stopped her from bolting toward the door without hurting her. She froze there, her body trembling faintly, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes. "I saw it all—the fantasies, those nights alone. They're... intense, and honestly? Flattering as hell. The bond, too—I knew Veela had them but I didn't know that you had marked me...needed me with such intensity, I feel you now and I wont let you go.."
She turned slowly, searching my face with those storm-blue eyes, her composure fracturing just enough to let the vulnerability seep through—a single tear tracing a path down her cheek. "You... you are not repelled? The bond—it consumes me, Ethan. It is forever, only you. No other can ever enter my heart, but others the purists they will turn on you for it. The wizards, the politics—they will call me and any of our children 'filthy part-breed,' say I drag down a proper name with my blood. I cannot bear zat for you."
I closed the distance between us in a single step, cupping her face in both hands now, my thumbs brushing away the tears with a tenderness that surprised even me—her skin was impossibly soft, and supernaturally warm like sunlight trapped in silk, her breath caught softly against my palms. "Let them run their mouths. The pureblood crowd? They're just bitter spectators jealous as hell that I get to wake up next to someone like you—fire in your veins, grace that stops rooms cold, the whole package. The bond doesn't scare me I never intended to let you go anyways; if anything it sounds like the kind of edge we could use. Makes us stronger together, right?"
A weak laugh escaped her, shaky but real, as she leaned into my touch, her hands coming up to rest lightly on my forearms. "Oui... it means you are the one, the only. No other man could ever... If we seal it, with our bodies, the magic links—yours flows into mine, mine bolsters yours. A true weaving, unbreakable." She pressed closer still, her body aligning with mine in a way that sent a shiver through me, her voice dropping to a shy murmur laced with that thickening accent. "But you must claim me fully, Ethan. Take responsibility. Never let me go—I would be lost without it."
I let a slow grin spread across my face, my hands sliding from her cheeks to the nape of her neck, fingers threading gently through her hair as I drew her in until our foreheads touched—her warmth seeping into me. "I don't let go of what's mine, Fleur. And from the moment I saw you, you've been mine—fire, bond, all of it."
The words hung between us for a moment, then I apparated us straight to my private quarters in the castle— a subtle essence tweak bypassed the anti-apparition wards as easily as breathing, the air sounding out with the familiar disorienting pop. As we rematerialized beside the bed, the room's fire crackling low in the grate, casting flickering shadows across the stone walls and heavy drapes. Fleur blinked, her hands still on my arms as she took in the sudden change, a soft gasp escaping her lips. "The castle... apparition is forbidden here. How did you—?"
"Let's call it a perk of being me," I murmured, my voice low as I backed her gently toward the bed, my hands trailing down her sides to rest at her hips. I didn't worry about her telling anyone, Veela were known for their loyalty to their partners.
She searched my eyes for a moment longer, the last of her hesitation melting away into something bolder, hungrier, and then she nodded, her fingers already working at the buttons of my shirt with a tremble that belied the fire in her gaze. "Then... take me Ethan make me yours."
R18 SCENE STARTS HERE
Clothes fell away in a hurried tangle—her workout clothes falling to the floor, my shirt tugged free and tossed aside, clothes pooling at our feet until there was nothing left but skin and heat. Fleur was perfect, her pale curves glowing faintly in the firelight reflecting off her sweat, breasts full and heaving with each quick breath, nipples already peaked in anticipation. I tossed her down onto the soft bed, parting her legs as I settled between them, the slick warmth of her welcoming me as I pressed forward—Damn, she's hot and tight inside, like velvet wrapped in flames, gripping me with a pull that's almost alive, every inch drawing me deeper until I'm buried to the hilt a red stain pulling on the bed as she got used to my girth. She arched beneath me with a soft cry, her silvery hair igniting in a halo of golden luminescence, strands shimmering like threads of captured starlight as her partial transformation took hold—her body heating to a feverish glow, skin burning to the touch, her inner walls pulsing hotter, tighter in rhythmic waves that milked me with exquisite pressure as if trying to strangle my cock.
"Ethan—oui, more, like that," she moaned, her voice breaking into French-laced gasps, nails raking lightly down my back as her legs locked around my waist, heels digging in to urge me deeper still. I thrust with building rhythm, steady at first then harder, her breasts pressing against my chest as I took her nipple into my mouth, the friction of our bodies a slick, heated slip n slide that filled the room with the sounds of our shared lust—skin meeting skin in sharp, echoing slaps, her moans rising in pitch and volume, raw and unrestrained. The bond thrummed between us like a live current, magic sparking in faint arcs along our joined forms, her glow enveloping us both as she shattered first—walls clenching in ecstatic spasms, hot and unrelenting, pulling my own release from me milking me for all that I was worth leaving us both shuddering and spent.
We lay there in the afterglow for what felt like hours, her head pillowed on my chest, the golden shimmer of her hair fading back to silver as her breathing evened out, her body cooling to a contented warmth against mine. "It is done now," she murmured, her fingers tracing idle patterns on my skin as she peppered my chest with light kisses, voice soft with a satisfaction that went down to her very core. "The bond is sealed. We are one, Ethan—magic and soul."
"Yeah," I replied, pressing a kiss to her forehead, feeling the subtle weave of her power threading into mine like roots intertwining underground. "And it feels exactly right."
R18 SCENE ENDS HERE
I apparated us back to the castle grounds as dusk began to deepen the shadows, the cool evening air a sharp contrast to the heat we'd left behind. We walked side by side toward the Beauxbatons carriage parked near the lake, keeping our pace measured and our conversation light—discussing minor tweaks to the Draconis Veil spell, hands brushing "accidentally" once or twice in passing the students paying us no mind. The normalcy of it felt like a thin veil over the shift between us, but we held it together, professionals to the end. When we reached the treeline, finally out of sight from prying eyes, Fleur turned to me with a quick, secretive smile—rising on her toes to press a soft peck to my lips, her taste lingering like a promise of more stolen moments. "À bientôt, mon loup," she whispered, her eyes sparkling with mischief and something deeper, before she darted into the carriage with that signature sway of her hips.
I watched her go for a moment, a smirk tugging at my lips as I turned back toward the castle—one more thread woven tight.
The Next Day: Reflections on a Stagnant Craft
The morning's Defense Against the Dark Arts class for the fifth-years drew to a close with a satisfying crackle of magic in the air—silver wisps of half-formed Patronuses flickering into existence before winking out as the students practiced their incantations. "That's enough for today," I announced as the bell tolled from the tower above, my voice carrying easily over the murmurs. "Focus on the intent next time—happiness isn't just a word; it's the fuel. Dismissed." The class filed out in a wave of rustling robes and excited chatter about the Triwizard Tournament mixed with trashing Harry, the door swinging shut behind the last straggler with a soft thud that left the chamber in echoing quiet.
I lingered at the front of the room for a moment, straightening a stack of parchment on the desk before sinking into the leather chair behind it, my wand twirling absently between my fingers as I let the silence settle around me like an old friend. It had been some time since I'd planted myself in this world, and I'd spent that time observing—not just the students with their half-formed spells and wide-eyed wonder, but the professors in staff meetings, even quick, subtle scans of passersby in the halls. Patterns had emerged, clear as day once you knew where to look, and they painted a picture of a magical system that was elegant in its simplicity but crippled by its own ignorance. The wizarding world's craft wasn't broken, exactly; it was just... throttled, running on a fraction of its potential because no one had ever bothered to map the engine under the hood.
Take the basics: every spell cast here relied on a delicate balance of internal and ambient mana, but it was wildly lopsided—wizards tapped only about 10% of their own internal mana, that innate spark drawn from their core, to act as a guide or catalyst for the remaining 90% pulled from the ambient mana in the air around them. The wand served as the funnel, shaping and directing the flow into the desired effect—a Levitation Charm, say, or a Stunner. It was efficient for everyday use, no question; you didn't need to build up a massive reservoir like in some other systems, just channel the environment's bounty through your will. But it was a crutch, plain and simple. Ambient mana was fickle—thicker in old places like Hogwarts, thinner in Muggle-heavy zones—and that 10% internal limit meant you were always scraping by, never surging. No wonder duels ended in draws more often than not, or why even powerhouses like Dumbledore conserved energy like it was gold. They were squeezing a garden hose when they could be unleashing a river.
The real problem though, was the complete lack of understanding about cores and magical veins or circuits. No texts here even mentioned them—not in the standard curriculum, not in the restricted section I'd skimmed during late-night strolls. Everyone had a core: that fist-sized orb of potential nestled in the gut, a gaseous pool of raw mana waiting to be tapped. But the veins—the magical circuits threading through the body like a second bloodstream—were the gatekeepers, and they were clogged to hell in most folks. I'd scanned enough people over the month to map it out: Muggles sat at 100% blockage, their cores humming silently but completely isolated, no flow at all, which explained why magic skipped them entirely. Squibs hovered around 80-90% blocked—a faint trickle might leak through for accidental bursts, but nothing controlled or spell-worthy. Wizards averaged 40-50% open at birth, enough to let that 10% internal mana guide the ambient pull without everything grinding to a halt. It was why they could cast at all, but it was inefficient as hell—mana leaked like a sieve, spells fizzled under stress, and growth plateaued early because no one knew how to widen those pipes or how to advance their core.
Clearing the veins to 100%? That was the game-changer. Full access flipped the script—internal mana jumps to 50% of the equation, direct from the core, blending seamlessly with ambient for a hybrid flow that was stable, potent, and scalable. Output explodes exponentially: a standard Leviosa that barely lifts a feather becomes a casual flick to hoist a boulder mid-air, no strain. Duels turn into routs, healing spells knit wounds in seconds, transfigurations hold against counter-charms without breaking a sweat. Capacity isn't just better; it's transformative—wizards who'd normally max out at the first stage the gaseous core could push to a liquid otherwise known as stage two, next came mana condensing into a denser state for sustained power, or solid for stage three, a crystalline heart bridging physical and spiritual realms, drawing ambient mana like a vortex while internal reserves run endless. Dumbledore? He was peak stage one the gaseous core—vast reserves, but lacking the oomph of later stages, like mist in a storm. Liquid him? He'd reshape battlefields. Let alone solid? The man's already a legend; that'd make him a myth.
To make it happen, I'd roll out in layers. Vein-clearing first: simple rituals using herbal infusions—from long extinct materials gathered using the Tardis that I collected, I would even outsource magical materials from other worlds Like Azeroth and grow them in this world to increase the range of potions and magical foci materials available. Next I would disseminate knowledge of magical core and vein clearing techniques disguised as my own discoveries.
Magical Foci overhauls would then roll out. Wands are fine for precision—cores and magical wood tunes intent like a radio—but they're bottlenecks, capping flow like a kinked hose. New builds: Yggdrasil heartwood for endless conductivity, no overload; Using materials from Azeroth, Tamriel, and other worlds would allow for a more personal resonance and greater capacity and durability, 10x output clean. Staffs for heavy lifts, rings for subtle magics, even vein-tattoos for wandless casting. I would prioritize my girls first. Then after consolidating our power and influence I would roll it out to the rest of the world.
Having already gathered materials from several worlds all that was left was to use the Tardis and gather some of the remaining materials from the past, as there were several magical species and plants that were long extinct. By bringing them back and carefully reintroducing them to my Essence Home and redistributing them through out the world the magical levels could be raised to the next level.
Opening up the blue telephone box I was greeted by an interior much larger than the outside appearance would suggest. Setting the time space coordinates I pulled the lever and as lights began to flash and a brief shaking occurred.