Chapter Text
Fleur had a dilemma.
When she crawled into his bed that night it was to try and help expedite his healing. Mostly. His smooth ebony touch chilled her where they met, and it was a fascinating and soothing feeling. As a Veela, fire always danced just out of sight, living within her and heating her body and mind.
She felt it in the courtyard when he first arrived. He was spilling into the temple, she must be the only one that could see it because her paladins would not be standing around so idly while black shadows spread around them like ink spilling into water. They stood, the closest to him lost up to the chest in evil, the furthest standing in the shallows.
The darkness parted around her, and she found at its center Remus was kneeling with a young man. He looked half dead, the shadows fighting to find sanctuary in him and destroying him in the process.
“... Voldemort.” She looked sharply at her Paladin, because she had missed whatever he’d said and only snapped to attention at the mention of that dark name.
“I’m ready.” The voice was ragged and pained. She had never heard it's like and it didn’t seem possible for one so young to sound like this. He was scrawny and hunched, he must still be a teenager she remembered thinking. He was smiling though, his eyes closed as he looked up at her, and she felt like he could still see her. It was unnerving.
She was suddenly very afraid of this boy. He seemed to represent all that those in the Light were taught to fear. Down to his peaceful content face, dripping black icor, and begging to be cradled. He was the black shadow, here to worm his way into their sanctuary and destroy them all.
A Markyri, the likes of which she’d never read of, an angel of dark.
“I’m sorry.” She told him, told the boy kneeling on the stone tiles of the courtyard. The one who had once been, before being lost to this monster. She apologized because she needed to kill this man, and rid the world of him for the sake of all of them.
When she cupped his face he screamed. The ink hanging in the air around him rushed in, pouring into his open mouth like he might drown in them. They curled and sought entrance wherever they could, through his nose and ears, and when they could not find any other way they pressed against his skin itself and burrowed into pores and follicles.
His screams did not last long, he went limp not long after she grabbed him. She barely noticed the flight of the dark, nor his collapse. His skin cracked and bubbled and fell away under her hands and it turned her stomach and horrified her as much as it sickened her. She’d never heard of something like this.
The fires inside her roared to life and poured out of her, into him, through the palms of her hands. She first registered a shocking biting cold, but as the heat of her Veela magic channeled into him that changed to a tingling numbness and for the first time in her life that fire dimmed. She suddenly felt serenely calm, the tempest flames of her soul settled to a glowing bed of coles inside. It was like being able to think clearly for the first time. Like suddenly being sober after a lifetime of drunkenness. Or finally surfacing from a shallow pool to look up at the sky without the distortion of water warping the vision.
Her mini reverie lasted less than a minute, as the darkness in the courtyard poured back into its source and his face was mutilated by her fire. She gasped, her conviction to end this man's life gone with the heat of her flames. Remus caught him as she staggered back a few steps and a veritable team of people caught her and worried after straightening her robes and checking on her. She paid them no mind, just looked at her Paladin as he lifted the boy into his arms.
“Is he alive?”
“Amazing…” She could not see Remus’s chest. Could not see the boy held there, there was only a dim patch of black smoke. “His face-”
She had him inspected by every priestess in the temple, they all confirmed he was physically whole. She could not touch him, not without nearly killing him, but they confirmed that he healed quickly from the wounds she inflicted.
She retired to the library, and for three days she did not leave save to sleep. She took her meals among the shelves as she poured over every book they had on Markyri. She read the personal accounts of priestesses who had dealt with them and checked the few works of Veela for the same encounters. Nothing explained the odd events of his arrival, no one seemed to have felt or seen the things she did coming into contact with other Dark Ones.
He did not wake, and after those three days she left the tombs behind, and went back to studying him. She took extensive notes as she felt around in the cloud of evil for the form of a body, and when she did she felt it again. That connection formed between them and unbidden her fire roared to life and fled for the void of his body. She did not allow it but for the briefest instant. As soon as it began his unconscious body was convulsing and she could smell the burning skin she couldn't see.
So began her dilemma.
The most base selfish part of her longed for that touch. That cool expanse of dark, longing to be filled with fire. He stole away her heat and left her relaxed and unbothered in a way she’d never been. She did not indulge, obviously, because he suffered greatly in giving her that reprieve.
Over those next few days, while he slept, she found that even without touching him he could still tug her soul. She documented and experimented with the phenomenon, and found that it had something to do with her allure. Or maybe it didn’t, but it felt like that at least it was like he had his own anti-allure that extended from him and worked in reverse of her own. Where she could project out, caress and infiltrate the minds of those around her and send things into their hearts, he pulled in.
On his fifth day into his coma, after noticing and toying with this occurrence, she finally opened walls and bathed him in the full power of her allure. She rarely allowed herself so little control over her Veela magic, and could not ever remember focusing it so fully on another living thing. It was the kind of thing that was not done, she had been taught that much at least before being sent to the temple.
She did not put much intention into the tide that washed over him, no strong desire for anything, she just smothered him in the oppressive weight of magic. He drank it greedily and it was almost scary, the feeling that she was falling into him, but it ate that fear as well and then she was struggling to feel anything.
She could not say how long she sat in the dim infirmary room, staring down at him, as an invisible river of fire sprung up from somewhere deep in her and poured into the yawning abyss of his soul. Hours, probably, it was still not dawn when a priestess slipped into the room to begin her day and started at finding her there.
Fleur felt the woman more than she saw her. With her allure filling the room, pouring into him, it tried to crush her when she entered. She clamped down on the connection, reigning it in until it was skin deep and contained. The fire momentarily raged and she felt it would consume her in its anguish at being caged once more but then it receded and she was left hot and itching.
Her back ached, she was hunched over the edge of his bed in her chair, and it cracked as she straightened after so much time spent slumped.
“Your Radiance-” Fleur frowned at the title, she had talked most of these Priestesses and Paladins down from such formalities by now. Then she realized the room was hot, it felt like they were sitting in an oven.
The elderly woman was sweating, and she must’ve felt something as she was swept up in Veela magic but Fleur had no idea what that feeling would have been. She was still reeling from whatever magical event had just happened, her prolonged slide into the whirlpool void of a Markyri’s mind or whatever that had been. She stood shakily, then mastered herself with valiant strength.
“Forgive me Minerva,” she said as she crossed from the bedside to the woman, and touched her arm and used her allure to wash away the remnants of the fear and confusion that had consumed the woman. “You do not need to worry about him.” He was the only patient, the only reason she would be coming here, “I will have him moved, immediately, you can return to you normal duties.”
It was a mark of her presence here, and the loyalty of her Paladins, that there was not even a surprised look at her command. She pulled four of them from patrol duties to carry him, bed and all, down the length of the Temple to her room.
It only took the following day, holed up in her quarters with his sleeping form, to know it was helping him. He began to make small noises, and his breathing was stronger. She could not see much more than a smoke cloud over his bed but she could hear the rustle of sheets as he moved about. She had a healer in that evening to confirm that he was waking, and then sent everyone away so she could continue to open the tap all the way on her often repressed powers.
He was a quiet person. It was a bit odd to converse with an ill defined cloud, and his penchant for moody silence didn't help matters. She chirped away nonetheless in those first few days and plucked at his desolate mood.
Things got better after the first week. Once they started reading lessons he really opened up. Not being able to see him really altered her perception of him. She had seen him that first day for that instant before she'd tried to burn away his stain on the world but it was hard to reconcile that sallow, hollow, young man with the voice inside this cloud.
He had an endearing childlike quality about him, like he'd grown up too fast and missed out on a lot of valuable life lessons. Like how to read, what friends were, and how to talk to people. He did not seem comfortable with conversation, and yet when he did do it he was almost rushing to get the words out before it was too late.
Her dilemma may have begun when she first tried to connect with his mind, but it came to a head after a week of sitting and talking with him. The cloud was gone when she woke, he was still sleeping, and instead of an inky mist she saw the shape of a young man. His skin was jet black, and the effect was mildly terrifying, he was like a void given form and dressed in simple clothes. He announced his awakening with a gasp, and she knew he must be seeing her in a new way too.
She could touch him now, it did not have the same effect as it had, but that was a good thing. Her flames still jumped at the opportunity to pass into him, and it calmed and soothed her as it had before. Just not in the all consuming manner that had left her paralysed and dazed, stuck to him for hours in a sort of mental embrace she was powerless to pull out of.
She had been burning to crawl into that bed from the first night. Whatever strange magic was ailing him, it seemed to be calling to her at all times. Or she was to it, it was impossible to tell. She made it less than a week before she was did it one night.
Fleur felt like a little girl again, sneaking into the kitchens after hours to look for sweets. He had gone to sleep and she was just finishing up some reading across the room at her desk. She stood, and on a whim she decided to forgo the distance and see what would happen. As soon as she made the decision every step felt naughty, and she tiptoed across to his bedside like she expected old Maxine the matron of her childhood home to swoop down on her. The sheets were cool as she slipped into them, his body was cool, the matte blackness of his skin pulled the heat from her where she brushed against it.
It was surprisingly easy to fall asleep.
When she woke up she could see him, truly see him, and he looked better. His eyes were still hollow, but not nearly so severely, and he had put on a couple pounds by the looks of his face. He looked less scrawny, less hungry, and infinitely less haunted. He was staring up at the ceiling, frozen like a rabbit who’d just seen the shadow of a hawk pass overhead.
"Good morning," She purred contentedly.
"Y-you're in my b-bed." He stammered blushing hot and fierce.
"Yes, I am." She laughed.
"Why are you in my bed?"
She sat up and she could feel the moment her allure struck him. She’d grown so accustomed to unleashing her radiant aura that she forgot to check it upon waking. As he looked up at her though, it clicked into place.
If her allure were a river flowing out from her in every direction, then he had been a stone in the current. Her Veela magic had split around him, hugged every corner, and sought to wear away the edge. When he looked up at her, and she knew he could see her as she could see him, suddenly that rock disappeared. He fell into her influence, and because she wasn’t projecting anything specific at him he just sort of sank into a stupor before her eyes.
"I'm going to miss that," she said wistfully, lamenting the loss of that freedom as she reigned in her powers and the fire intensified under her skin.
"What- was that?"
"My allure. You could not see me until this morning, so I 'ave been able to relax around you."
"I don't understand."
"I am Veela, you know of Veela?" He shook his head, “We are an ancient race, descended from the Kenku, who themselves are said to be of Sarenrae's line."
He didn't seem to fully comprehend this, and she marveled for a second about how much easier it was to read him now she could see those expressive green eyes.
"Bird people," She elaborated, and allowed herself a half transformation that got the shocked look she'd been expecting. "Who can summon fire." She demonstrated and he blinked at her in wonder.
"You can relax again,” he said with a blush, "I'll look away." He turned to half face the windows.
"That is kind of you, but I think for now I will control myself."
She settled back down at his side, and he stammered his way through a second round of confused objections. She navigated it simply enough, and finagled another half hour of bedtime out of him before someone came to bring them breakfast. It was a little unnerving, accepting the tray from the priestess, she felt the need to block the doorway. They could always see Harry, but now that she could finally it felt as though they would know she could.
This was Fleur's dilemma. She did not want to move his bed out of her room.
He was better now, perhaps not fully healthy, but she suspected they'd reached the extent of any proximity based healing. He needed food and rest now. Nothing more.
He did not question it, the rest of that first day they acted as normal. They had their little reading lesson, he was to the point of sounding out basic sentences now. They took their lunch in the room and then in the afternoon they went on a walk.
"I feel- better." He said softly, standing out in the gardens, it drew her attention from some soon-to-blossom roses. He was standing in the sun, face turned up, eyes closed. She stepped up beside him and did the same, basking in Sarenrae, her hand found his. As awful as it was, she was relieved to still feel that void in him. It was not altogether empty, he was somewhat whole, but he still welcomed her fire. That was more reassuring than it should be.
Fleur’s dilemma solved itself after a few selfish days of avoiding it. Every night she stayed up past him, later even then she normally would, and then found her spot beside him. She waited until she was on the brink of collapse to slip into bed because it made her feel better about waiting for him to fall asleep first. Like she didn't have to acknowledge her cowardice if she fell asleep fast enough once tucked into his side.
He never commented on her choice of bed, they didn't talk about it, but after the second night she began waking up in his arms. It was a new and comfortable thing in Fleur’s life that she didn't know she was lacking before and would now miss dearly.
On the fifth day since their cohabitation became entirely a guilty pleasure a new supplicant arrived. It was pure happenstance that they were out in the courtyard for their afternoon walk about when the man arrived. She thanked Sarenrae above that it had played out as it did.
He was a prisoner of Azkaban, gaunt and sickly and broken. She had seen his like before and they could heal him here. The demons of that place stole the light and warmth out of people, those lucky enough to be released often found sanctuary with them for a time. This one, however, was different.
A Paladin stopped to share words with the man, she wasn't paying any mind, the sun was bright and hot today and it warmed her skin pleasantly. She would not have taken any notice of the new arrival if not for Harry. He stood, and without so much as a word he walked off and left her there. She followed quickly, frowning at his back.
"Your radiance," Remus said, and she could see now that he was not his usual reserved self. He looked shaken by the man's presence and that put her on edge. "This is Sirius, an old friend that I have not seen for many years." He nodded jerkily toward the man who was turning from Harry's eerie silent inspection to look at her.
She opened her mouth to offer a greeting, but Harry cut over her rather uncharacteristically.
"You are a magus." Everyone blinked, and stared at him in shock, alleged Magus Sirius included.
"I- I don't-" Harry reached out and put a hand on Sirius' shoulder, ceasing whatever he was about to say. It was like a spell had been put over the emaciated older man, his eyes went wide then unfocused. He slumped to his knees, supported by Remus, and she realized a moment later that this was oddly familiar. It was like when she used her allure on people, this man Sirius was exhibiting similar symptoms, right down to the glassy eyes. She turned to look at Harry, to question him, and gasped.
As he stood over the older man, one hand on his shoulder, inky blackness was creeping up from under his collar. She looked down and saw that his hand was the familiar matte black from a few days ago. Remus noticed nothing, he looked on the scene as could be expected from the strangeness, but gave no indication he could see the change in Harry.
She reached over to pull Harry's arm free, but when she touched him he was freezing. Her fire responded fiercely, as it hadn't since early in his treatment, and he hissed in pain. She jerked back and a moment later Sirius gasped deep and ragged, like a man surfacing from the black depths of a lake. Harry released him, half his face was black, eye and all, lost to a featureless void.
"Come."
She commanded, frustrated she could not seize his hand and drag him away. She marched off trusting he would follow, she had already forgotten about Remus and the newcomer. She led them straight back to their room and bared the door behind them.
"Take off your shirt."
"W-what?"
She had no patience for his coyness at this moment. She reached out and undid the first button, careful not to touch him. She managed it before he regained himself enough to step back out of her reach, but he did as bid.
Half his torso bore the shadowy mark, it crawled up his neck and dominated the right half of his face. His entire right arm and shoulder were lost to it.
"Fascinating…" Fleur murmured, already reaching for her notebook.
So her dilemma was solved. Whatever he'd done to Sirius, pulled the corruption out of him and into himself it looked like, had set them back nearly a week. The only downside was she could not touch him again, but it was a price she was willing to pay to keep him by her side. It would take a few more weeks to really get to the bottom of what that meant.
-o-o-o-
Fleur felt him enter the first ward, it was always shocking, thought never as bad as it had been that first time.
The furthest wardlines extended about a quarter-mile out around the temple, so she had a few minutes to make it out to the courtyard. She could see the helmets of her two paladins gleaming in the bright mid morning sun as they flanked a dark horse that led them up the street. She stood and waited just outside the temple for them.
It was terrible everytime, though she understood why it had to be this way, she still hated it. She hated that sometimes when they'd found a particularly nasty little spot of evil her husband would come back too tainted to hold her.
He did not seem so bad this time.
Just past the last of the wards he dismounted, not even bothering to secure his steeds reigns or hand them off. He hopped down and strode over to her. Even now, three years later, he could still be shy and timid at times like this one. He stopped before her, and instead of reaching out for her he just smiled at her. He was so different now, so much healthier, so much brighter.
"You made it back to me, little shadow," she observed.
"You will not be so easily rid of me, my light." He responded, and she hmm'd pensively, still not closing the small gap between them.
"Were your travels troubled?"
"Only by the troubles we sought."
She tsked.
"Well, I suppose my work 'as begun." She observed, and a smile tugged up at the corners of her mouth. She raised a hand and placed it to his cheek and they both reveled in that burning connection.
"Do not work too hard," he requested, stepping forward finally to wrap his arms around her, "I do not want to go back out there just yet."
"You will go nowhere." She confirmed, and she leaned up to press her lips to his in a rare display of public affection reserved for moments of reunion. He squeezed her in his embrace as she seared her kiss into his mind with more than just her lips. As she broke away she returned his physical embrace with an emotional one of her own. He sighed in utter content.
Remus and Sirius had gone. Taking the horses to the stables. They were alone in the courtyard.
"Come little shadow, we will draw a bath, you are all dusty from the road."
She slipped out of his embrace but she kept him wrapped tightly in her own. She could feel the cool chill seeping into her and calming her inferno as she stole away the darkness he'd accumulated on his journey.
She was glad to have him home.