Professor Potter Ch. 35 (Harry Potter) (Patreon)

A/N: Off to Chateau Delacour. But what's this? Is Fleur yanking Harry's chain?

-x-X-x-

In the end, Harry can’t bring himself to say no. For a moment, he toys with the idea of having Fleur bring Gabrielle here… but then imagines a mini-Fleur with Narcissa Malfoy’s affliction running around Hogwarts. He blanches at the thought, recognizing that Gabrielle was right where she was meant to be. Chateau Delacour was no doubt a safe, secure, and all around friendly location for the young veela woman to adapt to the changes she was going through.

And that meant he had no choice but to go to Chateau Delacour. Still, there is one small hiccup in their plan. As he nods his head at Fleur, leaving the beautiful French Witch looking relieved, Harry holds up a hand, preempting the words of thanks no doubt on her beautiful lips.

“I’m happy to go to Chateau Delacour this weekend, Fleur. Even if I cannot begin to imagine how one single weekend will be enough time to help Gabrielle. However, aren’t you forgetting something?”

Fleur’s brow furrows at that, her lips pursing together cutely as she tilts her head to the side… also cutely. She IS part veela, after all.

“Non? Forgetting what?”

Chuckling, Harry shakes his head.

“I only need the Headmistress’ permission to leave the Castle for a weekend, and I have it. I have blanket permission to leave whenever necessary, in fact. But you… don’t you need the new Charms Professor to sign off on any departures, given you ARE her Assistant and she’s relying on your help to prepare for the next week’s classes?”

The light of realization dawns in Fleur’s eyes, and for a moment she does look worried. But then that worry clears up and she smiles.

“Ah, I would not worry about Professor Merigold. She is actually quite sweet and very understanding. She will let me go, do not fret ‘Arry.”

Considering what HE knows about Triss Merigold and the group she’s part of, he has to wonder. Maybe under normal circumstances the Charms Professor would be fine to spare Fleur for a weekend, especially when it was coached in such terms as ‘family emergency’.

But… what would the red head do when she found out Harry was going along too? Neither she nor the others in the Lodge of Sorceresses could block him from leaving the Castle, and to be fair they hadn’t tried. Andromeda would have told him if they had. But he wouldn’t put it past them, if they were getting fed up with his reclusiveness, to start playing hard ball where they could, like blocking Fleur’s efforts to take him to her family holdings in France.

… Well, it was out of Harry’s hands, wasn’t it? He couldn’t really do anything about it unless Triss actually did deny Fleur the weekend away. And so, for now he merely nods to Fleur, even as he straightens up.

“Very well then, I’ll leave that to you to get approved. If all goes well, we shall leave for your family home this weekend.”

Fleur blinks, and then gives him a coquettish smile and splays herself out, posing sexily for him at his feet.

“You are not done with me just yet, are you ‘Arry? Eet would be quite the shame to end things here…”

Blinking, Harry looks down at Fleur Delacour for a long moment… and then sinks back to meet her, his cock twitching in need and arousal as he lets himself be drawn into her warm, soft, lustful embrace once more. It would indeed be quite the shame to end things there…

-x-X-x-

In the end, Triss Merigold is not the obstacle Harry expects her to be. But then, that may or may not have had something to do with recent decisions he himself had made of late. Namely, the decision to let Hermione help.

Apparently, his brunette friend had not been idle. She’d not waited one single second before going to Triss and making friends with the Charms Professor, because as Fleur explained it, when she’d gone to ask Triss for the weekend off, the red head had assured her it was fine, even exclaiming that she would just have ‘Ms. Granger’ help her out and pick up any extra work that Fleur’s absence would cause.

All’s well that ended well, Harry supposed, though he would need to check in with Hermione after the weekend was done and make sure everything was going alright on her end. For now however, he could only rely upon the brunette to play things safe and continue to be the smart cookie he knew her to be.

As of this moment, he was all the way on the continent, after all, in France, specifically in Chateau Delacour, being shown around by his host, Fleur Delacour.

“And this is the South Parlor Room of course, where-!”

“Fleur.”

It had been amusing at first, but by this point Harry was getting a little irritated. And slightly famished. Maybe if Fleur had at any point used this impromptu tour to get up to no good with him, engaging in sexy times in any one of these dozens of very fancy, very French-looking rooms… but no. Instead, the French Witch almost seemed nervous about something.

She stops in her tracks at Harry’s slightly exasperated tone and looks at him wide-eyed, as if surprised that she was caught out.

“Are we not here for Gabrielle? We only have the weekend, Fleur.”

“A-Ah, yes… about that…”

Harry’s brow furrows in confusion, his lips curling downwards into a frown. Was this some sort of trap? Was Gabrielle even here? His suspicions begin to grow and he begins to surreptitiously reach for his wand. But before he can do anything, Fleur finally blurts something out, all in a rush.

“IdidnottellmymotherIwasbringingyou!”

It takes Harry a moment to actually parse what Fleur just said. When he does, he blinks slowly.

“Your mother.”

“Y-Yes. My mother, Apolline Delacour. She is… unaware of your presence. And due to Gabrielle’s condition, she has been spending most of every day at my leetle sister’s side. I was hoping to wait for her to succumb to exhaustion before bringing you to see Gabrielle, ‘Arry.”

Oh. Well that was just… no. No way. Harry wasn’t going to disrespect Fleur’s mom like that, especially not in her own house. Helping Gabrielle was one thing. But doing so under the nose of Fleur’s mother, behind her back? He didn’t sign up for that. That said, he DID sign up to help Gabrielle, and he had every intention of still doing so… with her mother’s permission.

“Fleur, you’re going to go get your mother and tell her I’m here. Let her know…”

Harry glances around for a moment before smiling ruefully.

“Let her know that I await her in the South Parlor Room at her earliest convenience.”

Fleur opens her mouth, looking a little hunted, but Harry cuts her off with a look.

“Fleur.”

Fucking her silly and dominating her in the middle of her own Veela Heat had clearly won him some brownie points with the French Witch, because her teeth click shut and she looks suitably chastised and cowed as she lowers her head in submission.

“… Very well, ‘Arry.”

With that, Fleur leaves the room, leaving Harry to his own devices. Looking around for a moment, Harry lets out a sigh and draws his wand, conjuring up his own tea service and settling down on one of the lounges in front of a nice, ornate little table.

By the time Apolline Delacour sweeps into the room, Harry is sipping from a piping hot cup of tea, enjoying it immensely despite the fact that none of it is real. Conjuration is funny like that. It tastes real, and quite good at that, but it will poof into nothing in his body within the hour.

Setting his tea cup down, Harry regards Apolline Delacour, even as Fleur and Gabrielle’s mother regards him in turn. As a half-Veela, Apolline Delacour doesn’t look her age. She could very well be Fleur’s older sister, rather than her mother. She’s drop-dead gorgeous, and unlike with Fleur, Harry actually feels her allure tickling at the edge of his senses.

With Fleur, he’s never once been taken in by her allure, unlike some of the wizards he remembered from back in his Fourth Year. But with her mother, he gets something. Not much, but something. He doesn’t let it show on his face, however. Instead, he schools his expression into one of politeness, offering Apolline a smile and a nod before gesturing to the empty tea cup.

“Tea, Lady Delacour?”

Raising a single perfectly sculpted eyebrow at that, the French half-Veela strides over and takes a seat, pouring herself a cup of tea as she studies him quietly. Harry has to admit, he’s a little bit surprised. The way Fleur was acting, he expected Apolline to come in here guns blazing. He expected her to be pissed that Fleur had invited him without asking for her permission. He expected her to blow up at him, to rage and snarl and yell at him to get out.

… He expected a lot of things that aren’t happening right now, and instead he’s getting near-silence, as Apolline very quietly sips from her own tea cup before nodding ever so slightly.

“… You ‘ave come to fuck my daughter. Zhat iz why you are ‘ere, non?”

Harry blinks, noting that Apolline’s accent is even stronger than Fleur’s. At the same time, he’s taken aback by her sheer bluntness. Is that why he’s here? Would he be lying if he said no?

“… If necessary, I am prepared to help Gabrielle in any way that I can. Fleur was under the impression that my presence would be useful. If you believe otherwise, then perhaps I should leave.”

Apolline falls into silence again, the gorgeous MILF considering his words as she looks at him with lidded eyes. Harry begins to feel a little hot under the collar… and realizes that the half-Veela is ramping up her allure in real time, consciously controlling it to increase the pressure it’s exerting on him. It’s still nothing intolerable or unmanageable, but it does feel a bit… hostile for her to be doing so when he’s trying his best to be polite.

But perhaps that’s the point. Is this a test? Why is he even asking himself that? Of course it’s a test. Said test started when Apolline came to meet with him while Fleur no doubt stayed behind with her sister. All Harry can do now is try to pass with flying colors.

“What makes you zhink you can handle my daughter, ‘Arry Potter? Gabrielle iz deep in her very first Veela ‘Eat. She has been unmanageable for quite some time now.”

Apolline’s questioning tone is not… completely accusatory. But it is probing, the gorgeous half-Veela peering at him curiously from across the table. Harry straightens up self-consciously, squaring his shoulders as he considers how best to answer her. In the end, he decides for brutal honesty. It’ll either get him kicked out or get his foot in the door, so he figures he might as well go for it, right?

“Because I already helped Fleur with hers.”

Far from overly surprised, Apolline merely lifts that same perfectly sculpted eyebrow from before, quietly waiting for him to elaborate.

“Fleur said it herself. I have a magical touch. She said it’s not just any wizard who can tame a Veela in the heat of the moment. I took control, I stabilized her, and I made her very, very happy. And now I’m here, willing to do the same for Gabrielle.”

Humming consideringly, Apolline takes another sip of her conjured tea. She has said nothing of whether it’s good or not, but Harry would assume it’s good, since the conjuration is based off of the best tasting tea he’s ever had. Still, it would be just like a snooty French woman to say his British tastebuds were shit, right? The fact that Apolline was refraining… well, it made it clear how grave the situation really was.

“… And you expect me to believe zhat your intentions are pure, ‘Arry Potter? You swoop in claiming you will ‘elp my daughter overcome her current… difficulties, and ask for notheeng in return? Suspicious iz it not, non?”

… He could see why she might think that way. But at the same time, Harry doesn’t like having his character questioned. Especially when he’s never given anyone, least of all Apolline Delacour, reason to doubt it. And he’s noticed how she’s ignoring his title. Technically, he is Lord Potter. But instead, she’s addressing him by his full name each time. It smacks of casual disrespect, even if it’s delivered in a carefree tone, as though she really is just enjoying a spot of tea with an acquaintance.

“… I expect to be given the trust that I have earned. I may not be closely tied to the Delacour Clan, but I have long considered myself a friend to your daughters, Lady Delacour. Your eldest daughter and I competed in the same tournament when I was younger and Fleur was Gabrielle’s current age. In that same tournament, I went out of my way to do what I thought I had to do to save Gabrielle’s life, despite her not truly being in danger.”

He doesn’t mention the Weasleys or Fleur’s failed marriage, and when Apolline doesn’t mention it either, he knows he’s made the right call there. Instead, the gorgeous half-Veela nods her head in solemn agreement, considering his words for a long moment before setting down her tea cup and rising to her feet. Then and only then does she unleash the full weight of her allure onto him.

For a moment, but only a moment, Harry is pinned to his chair, stunned by Apolline’s beauty. Then, he overcomes her allure and rises to his feet, growling as he holds his wand in his hand.

“What is the meaning of this?”

Apolline makes no further move to attack him, but that doesn’t change the fact that she did just launch an offensive action against him. Still, running a hand down her dress… the half-Veela French Witch wordlessly and wandlessly vanishes her clothing, exposing her ethereal beauty to him in its entirety, her nudity suddenly on display as she gazes at him intensely.

“Fleur’s heat as a quarter-Veela iz notheeng compared to what Gabrielle iz dealing with right now, ‘Arry Potter. A Veela’s first heat iz always zhe worst. If you are to handle Gabrielle… then you must prove you can handle ME first!”

Harry gapes at that. Was she serious?! But then, looking her up and down… she certainly looked seriously. Honestly, how did this keep happening to him?!