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 14 – Two Hungry Veela
~ Fleur Delacour ~
The silence in Fleur's private quarters within the Beauxbatons carriage was heavy, suffocating, and charged with a static electricity that made the fine, pale hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. The enchanted clock on the wall, a delicate piece of porcelain and gold filigree that usually chimed with a melodic sweetness, now ticked with agonizing slowness, marking the passage of minutes that felt like hours. It was well past midnight. The carriage was ostensibly asleep, the other students tucked away in their bunks, dreaming of the Tournament or the impending Yule Ball, their minds filled with frivolous things.
But Fleur was wide awake.
She lay on her back, her sapphire blue eyes staring unseeingly at the silk canopy of her four-poster bed. Her body was exhausted from the events of the last few days—the kidnapping, the dungeon, the terror of helplessness—but her mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. Gratitude. Relief. A simmering, hot anger.
And a burning, insatiable jealousy that tasted like ash and bile in the back of her throat.
Her mother was here. Apolline Delacour had arrived like a queen, swept into the castle with the grace of a storm front, commanded the room with a tilt of her chin, and then… then she had turned to him.
Fleur squeezed her eyes shut, but the image was branded onto the back of her eyelids, seared there by the heat of her own possessiveness: Sebastian and her mother in the Great Hall earlier that evening. The way Apolline had touched his lapel, her manicured fingers lingering over the fabric as if she already had the night planned with him. The way she had leaned in, whispering in his ear with that throaty, seductive tone she used when she wanted something. The way Sebastian, usually so cold, so guarded, a fortress of a man, had looked at her with a heat that Fleur had been trying to ignite for weeks.
'Ensure your room is unoccupied tonight, mon chéri.'
The words echoed in Fleur's head, taunting her, mocking her inexperienced attempts at seduction.
She kicked the duvet off, her skin burning as if she were standing too close to a hearth. It wasn't fair. It simply was not fair. She was the one he had saved. She was the one who had been training with him, sweating with him, breaking down his walls brick by brick in the training salles. She was the Champion. She was the future of their line.
And yet, tonight, while she lay here alone, clutching a cold pillow, her mother—her own Maman—was in his bed.
"Non," Fleur whispered to the darkness, the word trembling with suppressed rage. "I will not accept zis."
A surge of Veela fire coursed through her veins, older and wilder than her human rationality. It was possessive, territorial, and reckless. It was the instinct that told her to tear apart anyone who touched what belonged to her. And Sebastian… she had decided, with the arrogant certainty of youth and beauty, that he belonged to her.
She sat up, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. The floorboards were cool against her bare feet, grounding her.
She stood up and walked to the full-length mirror in the corner. In the moonlight filtering through the enchanted windows, she looked like a ghost, or perhaps a nymph from the old stories that frightened children. She was wearing a sheer white babydoll nightgown, a delicate thing of French lace and spun silk that she had bought in a boutique in Paris, thinking, hoping, she might wear it for him one day. It clung to her curves, the fabric almost transparent in the gloom, highlighting the soft, baby pink areolas of her breasts and the inviting shadow between her thighs. It was a garment designed for seduction, for her lover's hungry eyes to devour.
She looked at her reflection. She saw the fear lingering in her eyes, the uncertainty of it all, of her own inadequacy, but she also saw the steel. She was a Delacour. She was going to be a Triwizard Champion. She was not going to let her mother steal the only man who had ever made her feel safe, the only man who had looked at her and seen Fleur, not just the creature, not just the prize.
"If 'e wants a Delacour," Fleur murmured, tracing the line of her own jaw, watching her lips move in the glass, "Zen 'e shall 'ave to choose."
Or perhaps… he wouldn't have to choose at all.
The thought was scandalous, depraved even. It was the kind of thought that a proper young witch should never entertain. But as it crossed her mind, a jolt of arousal hit her so hard her knees buckled, and she had to grip the frame of the mirror. The slickness between her legs, already present from her turbulent thoughts, increased, soaking the gusset of her panties. The idea of confronting them, of seeing them, of joining them… it was maddening. It was intoxicating.
Before she could talk herself out of it, before the voice of reason could scream at her to stop, Fleur grabbed her silk robe. She wrapped it loosely around her frame, tying the sash but leaving the front open enough to tease, to show the swell of her breasts and the length of her legs. She grabbed her wand from the nightstand.
With a wave of her wand, a white light swirled around her form as she tapped the crown of her head.
A sensation like a raw egg breaking over her skull washed down her body, cold and trickling. She looked in the mirror; she was gone, replaced by a shimmer that matched the background of the room, a chameleon blending into the dark. Perfect.
She slipped out of her room, moving silent as a wraith through the corridor of the carriage. The wood creaked softly under the shifting weight of the carriage, masking her footsteps. She knew where Sebastian's quarters were—at the far end, separated from the students for security purposes, a lone wolf's den at the edge of the sheepfold.
As she drew closer, the silence of the carriage was broken.
It wasn't loud. The silencing charms on his door were heavy, mercenary-grade. But to a Veela's heightened senses, tuned specifically to the frequency of the man she desired, the sounds were audible. They were akin to a siren song pulling her closer.
A low, guttural groan that vibrated in the floorboards, a sound of male exertion.
And a woman's voice—her mother's voice—muffled, choking, and moaning in a pitch of ecstasy Fleur had only heard when she was with him before.
Fleur stopped outside the heavy oak door. Her heart was hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird, threatening to bruise the inside of her chest. Her hand trembled as she reached for the handle.
She didn't knock. She didn't announce herself. She didn't give them the courtesy of a warning. She simply gripped the brass handle, turned it, and pushed.
The door was locked, obviously. But Fleur pressed her hand flat against the wood, pushing her magic into the lock mechanism. Sebastian's wards flared—she felt the heat of them recognize her blood signature. Because her mother was inside, because her blood was already there, the wards hesitated. They felt the Delacour lineage and found it familiar.
"Open," she hissed, her voice a command of pure will.
The lock stalled but did not follow her command. And steeling herself, the young Veela did the only thing she could.
~ Sebastian Gray/Harry Potter ~
The room smelled of sex, sweat, and expensive, sweet French perfume. It was a heady, intoxicating cocktail that filled Sebastian's lungs with every ragged breath, a scent that triggered something primal and dark in the base of his brain.
He was sitting on the edge of the bed, his legs spread wide, his heavy, muscled calves anchoring him to the floor. The contrast of his rough, scarred physical appearance against the luxury of the Beauxbatons bedding was stark.
Kneeling between his thighs, her designer robes discarded in a careless pile of blue silk on the floor like a forgotten banner, was Apolline Delacour.
She was naked, save for a diamond choker around her neck that glittered in the candlelight. Her body was a masterpiece of mature, voluptuous beauty—wide, child-bearing hips that flared deliciously, heavy breasts that swayed with the gravity of her movements, and skin that glowed like alabaster pearl. She was a creature made for pleasure, refined by decades of knowing exactly how to wield her body as a weapon.
But Sebastian wasn't looking at her body. He was looking at the way she was devouring him.
She was taking him deep, using her mouth like a vice. Sebastian's hands were tangled in her intricate updo, pulling the jewelled pins out one by one so her blonde hair fell in a messy, chaotic cascade around her face. He gripped her head, his fingers digging into her scalp, controlling the rhythm, fucking her face with a brutality that would have terrified a lesser woman, a pace that spoke of dominance and ownership.
But Apolline was a Veela Matriarch. She didn't just endure it; she craved it.
"Gah... ugh..." she gagged as he hit the back of her throat, her eyes rolling back in her head until only the whites showed. Tears streamed down her cheeks from the force of it, smearing her mascara into dark streaks, but she didn't pull back. She hummed, the vibration sending shockwaves through his cock, a low purr of satisfaction.
"That's it," Sebastian growled, his voice rough and unrecognizable, like gravel grinding together. "Take it deep, Apolline. Show me what that mouth can do. You're tired of playing the role of a noble wife, aren't you? You're just a sheath for me now."
"Ghhhuugh!" Apolline gagged, her eyes rolling back into her head, the whites showing as she struggled to accommodate his size, his words igniting something visceral within her core.
He bucked his hips, slamming into her throat. She took it, her hands clutching his thighs, her manicured nails digging into his muscles through his trousers. She was drooling around his shaft, the saliva acting as a copious, viscous lubricant as she bobbed her head up and down, swirling her tongue around the sensitive head with maddening skill.
They had been at this for over half an hour now. They had barely spoken about the Tournament or the rescue mission or the politics of the Ministry before she had dropped to her knees. She had looked up at him with those hungry blue eyes, devoid of all pretence, and said, "I missed your touch, Sebastien. I missed ze way you make me forget who I am. Make me forget I am a Lady."
He looked down at her now. She was a mess. Her face was flushed a deep, aroused pink, covered in spit and the shiny gloss of his precum. She looked nothing like the poised noble who had commanded the Great Hall hours ago. She looked like a slut. His slut.
"You like that, don't you?" he sneered, slapping her cheek lightly, just enough to sting, just enough to mark her. "You like being used like this."
She pulled off him with a wet pop, gasping for air, a string of thick saliva connecting her bruised lips to his glistening cock. "Oui," she panted, looking up at him with absolute worship in her eyes. "Oui, I love it. You are... magnificent. You are a beast, Sebastien."
She reached down to stroke herself. She was already soaked, her fingers making wet, squelching noises as she rubbed her clit, her eyes locked on his throbbing member as if it were an idol she prayed to.
"Don't stop," Sebastian ordered, grabbing her hair again and forcing her back down. "I didn't say you could breathe."
She opened wide, eager to take him back in, her tongue lolling out.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
The sound was soft, tentative, barely a scratch on the wood, but in the heavy, heated atmosphere of the room, it sounded like a cannon blast.
Sebastian froze. The mercenary, the soldier who had survived battles and dark wizards, took over instantly. The fog of lust vanished within moments. In a split second, he had pulled out of Apolline's mouth, pushed her gently but firmly behind him, and stood up, his wand flashing into his hand from the holster on his arm.
He stood there, chest heaving, sweat glistening on his scars, his cock still hard and standing at attention, pointing his wand at the door with lethal intent.
"Who is it?" he barked, his voice cold, devoid of the passion from moments ago.
Apolline, shoved onto the mattress, looked confused for a second, disoriented by the sudden loss of connection. Then, annoyance flickered across her features. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, smearing the fluids across her cheek.
From the other side of the door, a voice spoke. It was trembling, but laced with a determination that Sebastian recognized.
"Sebastien. Maman. Open ze door."
Sebastian lowered his wand slightly, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction. He looked back at Apolline, who was watching him with wide eyes.
"It's Fleur," he said, his eyebrows raising.
Apolline's eyes widened, the realization sinking in. And then, slowly, deliciously, a wicked, amused smirk spread across her face. She didn't look ashamed. She didn't scramble for the sheets to cover her nakedness. She sat up on the bed, posing, arching her back so her breasts propped up, spreading her legs to show the glistening pink of her vulva.
"Well," Apolline purred, her voice dripping with a dark, feline satisfaction. "It seems my daughter 'as finally decided to stop sulking and act like a Veela."
She stood up. She walked past Sebastian, her hips swaying exaggeratedly, her nude form a testament to her confidence. She was completely naked, covered in the evidence of their intimacy, and she wore it like armour, like royal regalia.
"Let me get it," she said, her voice husky.
She walked to the door and threw it open.
Fleur stood there. She had dropped the disillusionment charm. She stood in the hallway, bathed in the soft glow of the corridor lights, wearing that sheer white babydoll that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. Her robe hung off her shoulders, framing her like a painting. Her face was pale, her eyes wide as saucers as she took in the scene before her.
She saw her mother—naked, hair wild, face smeared with fluids, radiating the scent of sex. She looked past her mother and saw Sebastian—shirtless, pants undone, his large cock still semi-hard, looking at her with a mix of hunger and… something else. Shock? Or perhaps pity?
"Maman..." Fleur stuttered, her bravado faltering for a second under the sheer, explicit reality of the scene. The smell hit her like a physical blow. "I... I heard..."
"You 'eard, and you came," Apolline said, reaching out to grab Fleur's wrist with a grip that was surprisingly strong. She pulled her daughter into the room and kicked the door shut behind them with a definitive thud, locking them in.
"Welcome, chérie," Apolline said, circling Fleur like a predator circling a wounded gazelle. She ran a hand down Fleur's arm, her touch electric. "I was beginning to wonder if you 'ad any fire in you at all. Standing outside, pining like a little girl... it does not suit you."
Fleur swallowed hard, her throat dry. Her eyes darted to Sebastian. He was watching them, his expression unreadable, but his eyes were dark, his pupils blown wide.
"I am not pining," Fleur managed to say, her voice gaining strength as she channelled her indignation. She looked at her mother, meeting her gaze. "I am staking my claim. You said... you said 'e was a man worthy to be claimed. Zat 'e belongs to ze strong. To ze Veela."
Apolline laughed, a throaty, delighted sound that filled the room. She walked over to the bed and sat down, leaning back on her hands and spreading her legs wide to show exactly how wet she was, her labia swollen and glistening.
"I did. And 'ere 'e is. Unsheathed and ready."
She looked at Sebastian, then back at Fleur, a challenge in her eyes. "If you wish to join us, Fleur, you may. But do not expect me to stop on your account. I 'ave an appetite to sate, and 'e is ze only one who can feed it."
With that, Apolline lay back on the bed, her hair fanning out like a golden halo. She looked at Sebastian and beckoned him with a crooked finger, a queen summoning her lover to bed. "Come 'ere, my wolf. Fill me up. Don't leave me empty."
Sebastian looked at Fleur. He saw the hesitation, the shock still warring with the desire in her young eyes. He could send her away. He could tell her to leave, to protect her innocence for one more night.
But then he remembered the clearing. He remembered Grindelwald's words echoing in his memories, the philosophy of power and desire.
You are allowed to want.
And looking at the two Delacour women—one the queen of desire, experienced and insatiable; the other the princess of potential, trembling on the precipice of womanhood—he found that he wanted them both.
He turned his back on Fleur and walked to the bed. He climbed over Apolline, his knees bracketing her hips, his shadow falling over her.
"Watch closely, Fleur," Sebastian said, his voice low and commanding, vibrating through the room. "Watch what your mother likes. Watch how a real man claims his woman."
He didn't be gentle. He grabbed Apolline's thighs, bruising the soft flesh, and slammed into her with a single, powerful thrust.
Apolline screamed, her head thrown back, her nails digging into his back, drawing blood. "YES! OUI! JUST LIKE ZAT!"
Sebastian began to piston in and out of her, his pace brutal, animalistic. The sound of flesh slapping against flesh filled the room, a wet, rhythmic applause. He leaned down, his mouth attaching to her neck, biting and sucking, marking her skin with purple bruises that would last for days.
Fleur stood frozen near the door. The sight was overwhelming. The smell of sex was thick, almost tangible in the air. She watched Sebastian's muscles bunch and flex under his skin as he moved, the sweat rolling down his spine. She watched her mother unravel, the mask of the noblewoman shattering completely, turning into a moaning, writhing creature of pure pleasure.
A jolt of competitiveness, hot and sharp, snapped Fleur out of her shock.
'He is mine,' her mind screamed, the Veela blood boiling. 'She is taking him. She is enjoying him. She is drunk with his pleasure. While I stand here like a child?'
No.
Fleur shrugged off her robe. It pooled on the floor in a puddle of silk. She walked to the bed, her steps silent but determined. She didn't ask permission. She didn't wait for an invitation.
She climbed onto the mattress, the springs creaking under the added weight. She crawled on her hands and knees toward them, the movement accentuating the curve of her waist and the sway of her hips. She looked like a white shadow, a ghost of lust in the babydoll.
Sebastian sensed her approach. He didn't stop fucking Apolline—if anything, he hit harder, deeper—but he turned his head.
Fleur crawled right up to his side. She was trembling, vibrating with adrenaline and arousal. She reached out, her hand resting on his bicep. It was hard as rock, slick with sweat.
"Sebastien," she whispered, her voice barely audible over her mother's moans.
He looked at her, his green eyes burning with a green fire. "Are you going to watch, or are you going to participate?"
Fleur didn't answer with words. She leaned in, tilting her head, her hair falling like a curtain around them, and pressed her lips to his.
It was awkward at first—her first real kiss, stolen in the midst of debauchery. But Sebastian took control. He didn't stop his rhythm with Apolline, his hips continuing their relentless assault, but he turned his full attention to Fleur's mouth. He kissed her deeply, his tongue sweeping into her mouth, claiming it, tasting her innocence, her minty breath, and her hunger.
Fleur moaned into his mouth, the sound trapped between their lips. The sensation of his kiss, rough and demanding, combined with the wet, slapping sound of him pounding into her mother created a sensory overload that made her head spin. She pressed her chest against his arm, her nipples hard as diamonds against his hot skin.
They broke the kiss, gasping for air. Fleur was panting, her lips swollen and red, her eyes shining with a mixture of tears and lust.
"My first kiss," she whispered, looking at him with wonder, touching her lips with her fingertips.
Sebastian looked at her, his expression softening into something almost loving, a stark contrast to the violence of his hips. "Not bad for a first try."
Suddenly, Apolline's hand shot out. She was still being fucked under Sebastian's cock, taking every inch of him, her body convulsing with pleasure, but she gripped Fleur's chin, forcing her daughter to look down at her.
"Your first?" Apolline teased, breathless, her voice broken by the thrusts. She looked up at Sebastian, grinning wickedly, her teeth bared. "Did you 'ear zat, Sebastien? My daughter... she 'as never been wiz a man before. She is untouched. A virgin. A little pure flower watching 'er Maman get broken."
Fleur flushed crimson, a heat rising from her chest to her hairline. She tried to pull away. "Maman! Tais-toi!!"
Apolline laughed, a breathless cackle, arching her back as Sebastian hit a particularly deep spot. "Oh, do not be shy, chérie! It makes you valuable! A prize! Look at 'im, 'e wants to break you too!"
Sebastian chuckled, a dark, rumbling sound that Fleur felt in her own chest. He reached out and stroked Fleur's cheek with his thumb. "Don't listen to her teasing. She's overwhelmed with lust. I'll take care of you."
He kissed Fleur again, softer this time, a promise wrapped in a caress. Then he pulled back, looking between the two women—the mother and the daughter, the past and the future.
"But first," Sebastian said, his eyes gleaming with a mischievous, sadistic light, "you need a treat. For dealing with her." He nodded at Apolline. "And she needs to be taught a lesson for teasing you. She needs to learn some manners."
He grabbed Apolline by the waist, his fingers digging into her hips. In one fluid motion, demonstrating his terrifying strength, he flipped her over.
"Oof!" Apolline grunted as she landed on her hands and knees, her face pressed into the pillow, her ass in the air, presenting herself like an offering.
"Watch this, Fleur," Sebastian commanded.
He knelt behind Apolline. He didn't enter her immediately. He raised his hand, broad and calloused, and brought it down hard on her right buttock.
SMACK!
The sound was like a whip crack in the small room. Apolline cried out, a sharp yelp, her ass cheek jiggling wildly from the impact. A bright red handprint bloomed instantly on her pale, milky skin.
SMACK!
SMACK!
"You like teasing your daughter?" Sebastian growled, spanking her rhythmically, putting his shoulder into it. "You like embarrassing her?"
"Yes! No! Ahhh! Harder! Oui, Sebastien!" Apolline screamed, confusing her answers in her delirium, her body writhing.
Sebastian grabbed her hips and drove into her from behind. This angle allowed him to go deeper, hitting her cervix with every thrust. He grabbed her hair with one hand, pulling her head back so she was looking at the ceiling, her mouth open in a silent scream of pleasure, and used his other hand to continue spanking her.
Fleur watched, mesmerized. Her mother's ass was turning a delicious shade of angry red. Apolline was screaming at the top of her lungs, completely undone, drooling onto the sheets as orgasm after orgasm ripped through her body, shaking her to her core.
"Oh god! Sebastien! I'm cumming! Je jouis! I'm cumming again!"
Fleur felt a wave of heat wash over her, settling low in her belly. She couldn't just sit there. She felt like an outsider in her own fantasy, a spectator to the main event.
She moved, stripping herself out of her babydoll. She crawled around to Sebastian's front as he continued his assault on her mother.
"Don't ignore me," she whispered, her voice husky.
She draped herself over his back, her arms wrapping around his neck. As he thrust into her mother, Fleur pressed her large, perky breasts into his face, smothering him in her softness.
"Look at me," she demanded. "Taste me."
Sebastian groaned, a sound of pure male appreciation, as the soft, warm weight of Fleur's tits pressed against his cheeks. He turned his head, burying his face in her cleavage, inhaling her scent of vanilla and jasmine. He kissed the side of her breast, his teeth grazing her sensitive skin, then opened his mouth to take a nipple inside, sucking hard.
Fleur moaned, a high, keening sound that harmonized with her mother's deeper, guttural screams. She leaned close to his ear, her breath hot, whispering things she had never dared to say out loud, words she had only read in illicit books or heard in the whispers of older girls.
"Fuck 'er," Fleur whispered, her French accent thick and heavy. "Break 'er, Sebastien. Show 'er she belongs to you. Make 'er scream your name. Show 'er you are ze master 'ere."
The dirty talk from the innocent princess, the contrast of her purity and her filth, was the final straw for Sebastian.
"Fuck!" he roared.
He increased his pace as his hips become a blur of motion, his lust addled mind controlling his body as he began jackhammering into the woman beneath him with a terrifying rhythm. He was lost in a sea of Delacour flesh—Apolline's tight, wet pussy squeezing him like a fist, Fleur's soft tits in his face, her voice in his ear, the smell of them, the taste of them.
"Please! Sebastien! I cannot take it! It is too deep!" Apolline wailed, drool spilling from her lips.
"You'll take every inch," he growled.
"Oui! Breed 'er! Fill 'er belly so she remembers who owns 'er!" Fleur encouraged, her competitive nature taking a dark, erotic turn.
"Is that what you want?" Sebastian gritted out, spitting Fleur's nipple out to gasp for air.
"Do it!" Fleur encouraged, biting his earlobe. "Breed 'er! Fill 'er womb!"
"I'm filling her!" Sebastian growled, his voice straining. "I'm going to fill her up!"
With a final, guttural shout that sounded more animal than human, Sebastian buried himself to the hilt in Apolline. He held himself there, his entire body going rigid as he erupted. He pumped jet after jet of hot, potent seed deep into Apolline's womb, claiming her, marking her inside and out.
Apolline screamed one last time, a long, drawn-out wail, her body convulsing violently around him, clamping down on his cock as she climaxed in sync. She collapsed onto the mattress, her arms giving out, face-planting into the pillow, twitching and shuddering in the aftershocks.
Sebastian stayed there for a moment, panting, his heart racing against his ribs. The room was silent except for the harsh breathing of the three of them. He slowly withdrew, the sound wet and obscene, leaving Apolline feeling empty, a mess of sweat, semen, and satisfaction. Her ass was striped red, her legs twitching.
Apolline collapsed flat onto her stomach, her limbs splayed, completely unconscious. A trickle of white fluids leaked from her used entrance.
He sat back on his heels, wiping the sweat from his forehead, and turned to face Fleur.
Fleur moved immediately.
She was sitting on his lap now, naked, straddling his thighs. Her eyes were fixed on his cock. It was softening slightly, but still large, heavy, and coated in her mother's fluids and his own leaking seed.
Fleur looked at it with an unreal hunger. She licked her lips. She reached out, her small, delicate hand wrapping around the shaft, feeling the heat and the pulse.
"It is beautiful," she whispered, her voice filled with awe. She looked up at him, her blue eyes dark with dilated pupils. "I want it. I want to feel it inside me. Now. I am ready."
She started to lift her hips, intending to position herself, to impale herself on him right then and there, to take what her mother had just had.
Sebastian caught her hips. His grip was firm, stopping her descent.
"No," he said gently, but with finality.
Fleur looked hurt, confused. Her face crumpled slightly. "Why? Am I not enough? Do you not want me? Is she better zan me?"
"I want you more than I want anything right now," Sebastian said, his voice sincere. He reached up and wiped a strand of blonde hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. He leaned in and kissed her nose. "But not like this. Not as a sloppy seconds after your mother. Not covered in someone else's mess."
He pulled her hands away from his cock, holding them in his own.
"Your first time..." Sebastian said, looking deep into her blue eyes, making a solemn vow. "It won't be a quick finish in a crowded bed with your mother snoring beside us. It will be slow. It will be just us. Just you and me. And I will make sure you remember every single second of it for the rest of your life. I will make it perfect."
Fleur stared at him. Her chest heaved. The rejection stung for a second, but then the meaning of his words sank in.
He respected her too much to just fuck her now. He wanted it to be special. He valued her.
A blush spread across her cheeks, softer this time, not from shame but from happiness. She smiled, a genuine, radiant smile that lit up the dim room.
"You promise?" she whispered.
"I promise," Sebastian said, kissing her knuckles.
He pulled her down against his chest, wrapping his strong arms around her. Fleur snuggled into him, resting her head on his shoulder, ignoring the sticky mess of the bed, ignoring her mother who was now softly snoring beside them, utterly spent.
She closed her eyes, listening to his heartbeat slowing down, thumping steadily against her ear.
She had staked her claim. And she had won.
"Bonne nuit, Sebastien," she murmured, sleep tugging at her eyelids now that the adrenaline was fading.
"Goodnight, Fleur," he replied, kissing the top of her head.
Outside, the moon shone bright over the grounds of Hogwarts, casting long shadows over the carriages. Inside, the mercenary held the princess, and for the first time in a long time, Harry Potter fell asleep without a single nightmare, guarded by the beauty of the Delacour women.
Author's Note
Next up, champions reveal.