Run

A sharp slap rang through the room as Fleur's palm cracked against Pettigrew's knuckle. His hand hit the bed. Fleur scrambled away. She tried to stand. Instead, she was carried back, flying off her feet.

"Depulso!" Pettigrew snarled. Fleur's breath grew tight as she struck the wall. She slid down onto her knees, gasping for air.

"I came all this way for you," Pettigrew said, slipping out from under the sheets. "I don't understand."

He held his pudgy arms out wide. Each of his fingers were bedecked with dozens of rings, while his chartreuse robes were made from exotic, top-quality silk. His smile was wide to the point of being manic. He appeared to be out of breath… Or so worked up that it achieved a similar effect.

"I got dressed up for you," he said. "Don't I look nice? I look nice. I'm rich. You can see it. SO WHY ARE YOU LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT!"

Fleur staggered to her feet. She took one step toward the door— and as soon as she did, Pettigrew had his wand on her.

"No," Pettigrew said. "No no no no. You aren't going anywhere. If I can't… If I can't have you… I'll make sure nobody can! Yes, that's it."

"You are a lunatic," Fleur said.

"Lunatic? Me?" Pettigrew grinned. "No, I'm Peter Pettigrew. I'm rich. Women want me."

He muttered it like a chant. Fleur wondered how many times he'd repeated such words under his breath and inside of his head. Her guess would be in the thousands.

Pettigrew crawled forward on the bed. "Stay still. You won't have to do anything. I'll come to you…"

Fleur's blue eyes widened. There was a feeling inside her chest, starting at her heart and expanding out. Her blood tingled. Her perfect features, if anything, became even better— although they didn't really change. They were simply accentuated, the way a good coat of makeup or a glamor charm might improve them. Pettigrew stopped, his jaw going slack.

Veela allure was a fascinating ability. It started as a hunting mechanism. A pure-blooded veela could put almost any man in a trance, reducing him to something like a slave. She could then have his body all to herself, for veela thrived off of sex, and when she'd had her fill, his body could provide a different kind of nutrients.

Such practices were a thing of the past now. Hunting wizards was a quick way to see your species eradicated, and veela were intelligent enough to understand that. But they still used it to capture the hearts of men who caught their eye; or, at least, to capture their bodies. Fleur didn't possess this ability in the way that her grandmother did, or even her mother, who had twice as much veela blood inside her. All Fleur could do was make a man enter a stupor, or draw him toward her romantically. It was not an ability she put much pride in. Perhaps that would change, if it saved her now.

Pettigrew blinked drowsily. He started forward again, more slowly, but not frozen as he had been. Fleur bit her lips and summoned every bit of willpower she possessed.

Instead of freezing, Pettigrew only kept coming faster. The tingling inside Fleur's veins faded. She realized, with seconds left, that her allure had failed.

Veela were creatures of attraction. Supernaturally beautiful, their allure was another way of suckering in desired prey. But that was what it all came down to: desire. Allure was a way of capturing those you yearned for. With the rat in front of her, Fleur could not have imagined desiring anyone less.

When Pettigrew's trance finally broke, Fleur was already running.

Her palms slapped the door frame as she sprinted out, helping her turn quickly. She heard the bed squeaking, followed by heavy footsteps behind her. Pettigrew was coming.

She should have asked Harry to get her a wand. She should have thought of something like this. She should've done a million things— anything not to leave her in this position. Her arms pumped at her sides as Fleur ran as fast as possible. But, like a rat, Pettigrew was deceptively fast.

A spell struck the floor between Fleur's legs. When it did, a hole was bored through the wood. If it struck her, Fleur wasn't sure she would still have two feet. 

She had to get to Harry's room. It was strange that he hadn't arrived yet. Could he not hear the noise? Was he avoiding her?

A spell hit Fleur's left arm. Stinging shot through it, causing pain but no real damage. It still made her cry out as she ducked around the corner. 

"You want me to catch you, right?" Pettigrew's voice echoed after her. "Don't worry. I'll cherish you once you're mine. I won't give you away ever again!"

Fleur jumped down the stairs two at a time. Her arm still stung horribly. She twisted her ankle on one step, but refused to slow down.

Something furry hit the back of her head. With a duelist's reflexes, Fleur spun and grabbed the small shape by its rubbery tail. Pettigrew had turned into his rat form and jumped through the banister to save time. He tried to transform back on top of Fleur, but her quick reaction saved her. She threw the rat by the tail, causing him to resume his human form in midair. He rolled on his stomach, but popped back up immediately after, moving with manic fanaticism. 

He took aim at Fleur's back, and at such close range there was no way he could miss.

"Petrificus Totalus," he said giddily.

The spell hit the wall. Someone had slammed themselves into his arm.

"Go!" Susan said. 

Despite everything, Fleur could not help but stare. Susan was dressed in nightclothes. She had dragged herself out of bed at the commotion, immediately throwing herself at Pettigrew. Their last conversation had been an argument.

"I told you!" Pettigrew said, his eyes wide. "Women love me!"

He threw Susan off, pushing her against the wall.

"You can go next," he said. "I'll keep both of you. I'll treat you better than Harry ever did! And then—"

Fleur kicked him in the back of the head. 

He tumbled to the floor. She put everything she had into the blow, but only succeeded in causing him pain. It was cathartic; it was not a solution.

But Fleur summoned back her allure, and even though it worked even worse than the first time, she only needed a moment.

"If you want me, you must catch me," she declared.

Pettigrew's face lit up. He took it as an offer. When Fleur ran, he wasted no time in giving chase, forgetting Susan entirely. The redhead grabbed the hem of Pettigrew's robes, but he tore from her grip as he chased Fleur.

She stayed ahead of him. It was close. She could hear his steps and his breaths, both equally heavy. Fleur reached Harry's room. She wrenched the door open.

She did not find him. His bed was shoved to one side of the room, a trap door revealed in its usual spot. Fang was laying on the floor. When he saw Fleur — and Pettigrew behind her — he started to bark. 

"Don't interrupt," Pettigrew said.

As Fang began to rise, Pettigrew knocked him into the corner with a spell. Fang whimpered and barked, but could not get over to them. 

Fleur saw no other choice. She dove for the trapdoor.

It was locked.

No matter how she pried, it would not open. Her heart hammered. Two of her nails broke as she yanked on the cracks. Her fingers stung, as did her eyes.

Pettigrew's shadow fell over her.

"I worked so hard for you," he said. "You don't even understand. I used so many Galleons. I called in every favor. And now, I caught you! So why are you looking at me that way?"

Fleur was trying to keep her breaths measured. She was failing. Tears had started, only a few, but that was still far too many. She did not want the pathetic monster to see this side of her. Her fingers still pulled on the trapdoor, but it refused to move.

Pettigrew reached out his grubby fingers. Fleur grabbed his wrist, holding him back with all her might, yet his hands still inched closer. Her head darted forward, biting his thumb. Pettigrew's only response was crying tears of his own. His fingers wouldn't stop stretching toward her skin.

"Why don't you love me yet?" he asked. "Why are you resisting? Why do they always resist?"

"Because you are a foul, nasty, repulsive man!" Fleur snarled. "And because you remain so stupid."

She adjusted her grip. Instead of holding Pettigrew's wrist, she moved so that she was holding his hand, which was holding his wand in turn. The connection was tenuous, but Fleur could feel it. Her magic connected with the wand.

She lacked the strength to twist his hand toward himself. She could not aim her magic at him… but she could wield it in other directions.

"Confringo," Fleur snarled, jerking their hands in a Z-shape. 

Pettigrew's wand was a poor fit for her, and she only had half possession of it, weakening the blasting curse that left its tip. This saved Fleur from major injury, although she did not escape unharmed.

The spell hit the trapdoor behind her shoulder. It shattered in a puff of splinters, many of which embedded in Fleur's arm. The heat singed her skin. Pettigrew screamed like the coward he was as the floor disappeared beneath them.

They fell together, past a ladder, down into a room beneath. Fleur twisted in the air, turning to land on her less injured side. Pettigrew landed face first. She heard his nose snap.

They both lay groaning. But Fleur was not weak. She could not feel her left arm. Her back ached now from the landing, and she was sure a rib was bruised, if not broken. She stood up. She staggered away from Pettigrew, putting any extra distance she could.

That was when she saw it.

It was watching her, this thing that both was and wasn't a wolf. Its eyes were halfway between human and animalistic. Its snout was that of a canid, yet shorter than it should be, adding to its unnaturalness. The monster had a stubby tail that lacked the length and majesty a real wolf's tail would possess. All these physical traits were nothing, though, compared to the real difference between this thing and a wolf, which was its expression.

This thing wanted to hurt Fleur. It wanted to rend her body and feast upon her remains. Its only goal, a very part of its being, was to bring humans pain. The wolf reared back.

It planted its front paws between two bars. A howl filled the room, deafening in volume, as its sleek fur glistened in the moonlight. Its muscles bulging. Fleur watched the thing's nostrils open wide as it sniffed the air, drinking in her and Pettigrew's scent. As its appetite was whetted, its strength grew.

The monster worked itself into a frenzy. Its short tail shook. Its tongue flopped between its fangs. The bars screamed, groaned, and opened an inch at a time.

Pettigrew found his way to his feet. He lurched forward, extending his arms to envelope Fleur.

"I've got you!" he said.

Fleur dove aside as the cage broke.

The beast was on top of Pettigrew faster than Fleur could follow. There was a great howl, followed by even greater screams. The beast's clawed arms swung back and forth as Pettigrew writhed. Blood splattered on the floor. Pettigrew started to shrink, changing into a rat, but it was too late. For once, he could not escape. The beast wrapped its jaw around his skull. Pettigrew's neck snapped, before tearing entirely. The corpse that was left was half-man, half-rat, and shredded beyond recognition.

Rather than feast like a wild beast, the wolf-like thing stopped there. It didn't kill for food, it killed to kill. And now, it was looking at Fleur.

She ought to have been terrified. Part of her was. And yet…

"You have lovely eyes," she said. "A wonderful shade of green."

The beast cocked its head. It prowled forward, unable to understand her, but Fleur just looked at it.

"You're Harry, aren't you?"

She backed up as she spoke. The monster hadn't yet charged her. It was content to close the distance slowly. She saw no recognition in its eyes.

Her back touched the window, where the full moon's light leaked in. She could not run any further, and the wolf that was Harry was still approaching. Fleur did not scream, and her crying was done. If she died here, so be it. That was better than another minute with Pettigrew.

"Greyback turned you, didn't he?" Fleur cocked her head. "Yes, that would explain why his head hangs in your living room. You were always alone, weren't you? Surrounded by nothing but enemies. It is no wonder you grew up cold."

She did not fear dying now, in this way, but a feeling of regret was beginning to well inside her. Harry was cold, yes, but he did his best for her despite this. Perhaps it was only to make himself feel better, as he said. Did that matter? He helped her. Now, she would like to help him.

For the first time in her life, Fleur called on her allure without a conscious choice. It was not until the wolf stopped that she even recognized the tingling feeling in her veins. 

It was stronger now. And despite facing down a blood-soaked monster, Fleur had no trouble maintaining it. In fact, it was stronger than ever.

The werewolf sat.

It cocked its head like Fang. Fleur could see its nose sniffing. She smelled human, but her allure was something inhuman. The werewolf could not decide if she was prey.

Slowly, Fleur sat down herself. She crossed her legs, planting her palms on her knees, and stared at the werewolf. She smiled.

"Do you know what this means?" she asked, her allure causing her voice to come out silky. "It means I have decided to make you mine. You are not the only predator in this room— and a veela always gets her prey.

The werewolf whimpered.

If Fleur's focus slipped for a single second, the effect would be broken. One lapse would see her meet the same fate as Pettigrew. But she was not worried.

She remembered her cage at Pettigrew's Emporium. She remembered being brought on stage, propped up for hundreds of men to leer at. She remembered how hopeless everything seemed, and how cold this almost-empty home first felt.

So of course she remembered Harry's first appearance, as Pettigrew fled from him. She remembered tending his hand after he saved her a second time. She remembered each of their conversations, and the way they chipped away a little more of his emotionless exterior. She would not be here without him.

"Come," Fleur commanded.

Slowly, the werewolf crawled forward. It stared at her. As Fleur's allure washed over it, bathing its mind, it released a soft whimper.

Then it laid its head down, directly in her lap. Fleur giggled.

"A veela always gets her prey," she repeated.

She stroked Harry behind his ears, her fingers brushing across his fur.

O-O-O

Harry awoke covered in blood.

His memory was hazy. It always was when he first awoke. This usually came paired with a crippling migraine, but the headache was missing this time. Vague recollections rushed back to Harry.

His breathing sped up. He remembered swinging his claws, the taste of blood in his mouth, and the screams of a victim. He had killed someone. 

Harry lurched up off the cold floor, quickly taking in the bent bars of his cage. His shallow breaths became hyperventilation.

"Not again," he said. "Not again, not again, not again!"

He stared down at the mess on the floor that had once been a person. He pressed a hand to his face, inadvertently filling his nostrils with the scent of blood that was lodged under his nails. He was crying. He could feel the tears sliding down his palm.

"You're awake."

The voice penetrated Harry's panic like a piercing curse. He twisted around to find Fleur sitting underneath the window, rubbing her eyes.

"I drifted off when you transformed back and passed out. It was very tiring to keep you—"

Fleur stopped abruptly. She was too shocked to speak as Harry dropped in front of her and wrapped her in his arms. He tucked his face against her neck, where she could feel his tears.

"I'm so glad," Harry sobbed. "I'm so glad…"

Fleur hugged him back. It took her a moment to begin, but once she started, she squeezed him with all her strength.

"I am not so easy to get rid of!" she declared.

But Harry hardly heard her. He was repeating one thing over and over, as if he had to tell himself a hundred times in order to believe it.

"It didn't happen again," he said. "It didn't happen again. It didn't happen again…"

Fleur rubbed his back.