The fireplace in Dolohov's temporary quarters flared green, and a face appeared in the flames. Sharp features, cold eyes, and a thin smile that never reached those eyes.
"Antonin," Konstantin Volkov said in Bulgarian, his tone carefully neutral. "I watched the duel."
Dolohov's jaw clenched. His wand hand still ached from where Peverell's binding spell had locked away his magic, even if only for a few seconds. Those few seconds had been enough to cost him everything.
However, even if he'd lost, he wasn't some cowering fool to be lectured.
"Then you saw what happened," Dolohov said flatly, meeting Volkov's gaze without flinching. "Peverell is more skilled than anyone anticipated. Much more."
"I saw you get humiliated in front of half of magical Europe," Volkov corrected. "I saw you use your most aggressive tactics and still get taken apart like an apprentice. That was not part of the arrangement."
Dolohov's eyes flashed dangerously. "Our arrangement was for me to eliminate the Peverell lord. The method was left to my discretion. The tournament provided cover for an accident. It didn't work out."
"No, it certainly didn't." Volkov's expression remained cold. "And now I have Lucius Malfoy sending me increasingly frantic owls about how you've made things worse instead of better. Apparently, Peverell's victory has only increased his standing in Britain. The man won't stop complaining."
"Fuck Malfoy," Dolohov snarled, his temper finally breaking through his controlled facade. "That preening peacock hired me through you to handle his problem, then sits in his manor wringing his hands while I do the actual work. If he's so concerned about Peverell, he should have dealt with the man himself instead of crying to you like a spoiled child."
"Malfoy pays well for results. Not excuses."
"I don't make excuses." Dolohov paced before the fireplace, his movements sharp and controlled despite his anger. "I underestimated Peverell. That won't happen again. He baited me, made me think I was winning, that I had him on the defensive. Then he destroyed me when I overcommitted. It was well played." The admission clearly cost him, but Dolohov wasn't fool enough to deny reality. "He's better than I expected. So I adapt."
Volkov studied him for a long moment. They'd worked together for years, ever since Dolohov had left Durmstrang and needed connections in the darker corners of magical Bulgaria. Volkov provided those connections, acted as broker for jobs that required discretion and violence. But they were associates, not master and servant. Dolohov wouldn't tolerate being talked down to, not even by Volkov.
"What are you proposing?" Volkov asked finally.
"The tournament is over. Peverell thinks the duel was the end of it. He'll be celebrating his victory, probably drunk on success and buried in some French whore." Dolohov's smile turned cold and calculating. "He's still in France. Still vulnerable. Without the arena's protections, without referees and healers standing by, I can handle him properly."
"An ambush."
"A permanent solution." Dolohov stopped pacing, his confidence returning now that he had a plan. "I have three men here in France, former students of mine. Good with curses, better with keeping their mouths shut. Plus a few local contacts who owe me favors. We hit him tonight, make it look like a robbery gone wrong or a drunken brawl with locals. By morning, the Peverell line ends and Malfoy can stop sending you his pathetic complaints."
Volkov was quiet for several seconds, weighing the proposal. "If you fail again, Malfoy will demand his gold back. And he'll make it my problem."
"I won't fail." Dolohov's voice was filled with absolute certainty. "In the arena, I had to follow rules. Had to make it look like an accident while every official in Europe watched. Tonight?" His smile widened. "Tonight, there are no rules. No witnesses that will live to tell anyone what happened. Peverell is a dead man, Konstantin. He just doesn't know it yet."
"Then do it quickly. And cleanly." Volkov's expression remained hard. "I don't want this traced back to us. Not to me, not to Malfoy, and not to Bulgaria. If you're caught, you're on your own."
"Understood." Dolohov had expected nothing less. That was how their world worked. Success brought reward. Failure brought abandonment.
"One more thing," Volkov added. "Peverell made you look weak today. Every wizard who watched that duel saw Antonin Dolohov, the feared Bulgarian champion, get dismantled by a much younger British lord. Your reputation is damaged. Badly."
Dolohov's hand tightened on his wand. He didn't need Volkov pointing out what was already eating at him.
Volkov's smile was thin and humorless. "Send word when it's done. And Antonin? Don't disappoint me twice."
The flames died, leaving Dolohov alone with his thoughts and his rage. His reflection in the darkened window showed the bruises Peverell's spell had left on his shoulder and leg. They'd fade in a few days, but the humiliation wouldn't.
He'd been so certain of victory. So confident that his brutal approach would overwhelm the British lord. Instead, Peverell had made him look like an amateur in front of everyone who mattered. Had stripped away his aura of invincibility and left him gasping in the dirt while the crowd cheered for his opponent.
But more than that, Peverell had been toying with him. Dolohov could see it now in hindsight. Every move calculated to make him overcommit. Every taunt designed to make him angry and sloppy. The British lord had played him like a puppet, and that knowledge burned worse than any curse.
That would not stand.
Dolohov moved to his writing desk and pulled out parchment. Three quick notes, each one brief and to the point. A meeting location. A time. A target.
His men would come. They always did. Viktor, Gregor, and Pavel, all former Durmstrang students who'd learned curse work under his tutelage. All loyal, all capable, all willing to do what needed to be done without asking uncomfortable questions.
And together, they would teach Harry Peverell what happened to wizards who made Antonin Dolohov look weak.
The tournament had rules. The streets of France did not.
By morning, the Peverell line would be extinct. Malfoy would have his victory. Volkov would have his payment. And Dolohov would have his retribution, paid for in blood and screams.
He smiled as he sealed the letters. Peverell thought winning the duel meant winning the war. He thought the danger had passed.
He was about to learn how very wrong he was.
-Break-
The property was tucked away in the French countryside, far enough from the main Deschanel chateau to offer complete privacy. Harry stepped out of the floo into a cozy entrance hall decorated with understated elegance. Soft lighting from enchanted candles cast warm shadows across cream-colored walls and dark wooden floors.
Apolline was waiting for him.
She wore a dress that made his breath catch. Deep blue silk that clung to every curve before flowing loosely from her hips to mid-thigh. The neckline plunged just enough to be tantalizing without being crude, and her platinum hair fell loose around her shoulders in soft waves. Her feet were bare, which somehow made the whole look even more intimate.
"My Lord Peverell," she greeted, her voice a low purr. "You came."
"You doubted I would?" Harry asked with a raised eyebrow.
"Not for a moment." Apolline moved closer, her allure wrapping around him like silk. "But it pleases me nonetheless. Come, dinner is ready."
She led him through to a dining room that was smaller and more intimate than he'd expected. A single table set for two, candles flickering in crystal holders, and a window overlooking the darkened countryside. The meal was already laid out, French cuisine that looked and smelled divine.
"You prepared all this yourself?" Harry asked as she gestured for him to sit.
"Mostly." Apolline settled into her own chair, her movements graceful as always. "I sent the house elves away for the evening. I wanted us to have complete privacy."
"Should I be concerned for my virtue?" Harry asked teasingly.
Her laugh was rich and genuine. "Your virtue ceased being a concern the moment you agreed to this dinner, I think." She poured wine into both their glasses, the deep red liquid catching the candlelight. "But relax. I promised you dinner and conversation. Anything else..." Her eyes met his over the rim of her glass. "Well, that depends entirely on how the evening progresses."
Harry raised his glass in salute. "To honest intentions, then."
"To possibilities," Apolline countered, and they drank.
The food was excellent. They started with a light salad dressed in vinaigrette, moved on to coq au vin that practically melted on the tongue, and paired everything with a bread so fresh it must have been baked that evening. They talked as they ate, the conversation flowing easily.
"I have to ask," Apolline said after they'd made good progress through the main course. "Where did you learn that binding spell? The one you used on Dolohov. I've never seen anything quite like it."
"Peverell family magic," Harry replied. "It's designed to temporarily suppress an opponent's magical output. Useful in duels, obviously."
"Obviously." Her foot brushed against his under the table, so light he might have thought it accidental if not for the wicked gleam in her eyes. "Your family seems to have quite the collection of unique spells."
"We do. Though most of them are less combat oriented. Protection wards, healing magic, that sort of thing. The Peverells were never big on offensive magic until a few generations ago."
"And what changed then?"
Harry considered how much to share. "One of my ancestors married into a more militant family. Learned that sometimes the best protection is a good offense."
Apolline's foot traveled up his calf, her toes tracing patterns through his trousers. Her expression remained innocent, but her eyes danced with mischief. "And you? Do you subscribe to that philosophy?"
"When necessary." Harry's own foot found hers under the table, his toes brushing along her instep. Her pupils dilated slightly, and he felt her allure around him get stronger. "I prefer to avoid conflict when possible. But when it's unavoidable..." He thought of Dolohov's face as those binding chains wrapped around him. "I don't hold back."
"No, you certainly don't." Her foot slid higher, reaching his knee. "Tell me, did you enjoy it? Putting Dolohov in his place like that?"
"More than I probably should have."
"Good." Apolline's smile turned fierce. "He deserved it. What he did to me, to Rodriguez, to all the others. He needed to be taught that brutality isn't the same as skill." Her foot retreated, and she took another sip of wine. Her voice grew even sexier as she continued, "Though I confess, watching you dismantle him so thoroughly was incredibly satisfying. And rather arousing, if I'm being honest."
Harry laughed. "You find dueling arousing?"
"I find competence arousing. Power, skill, control." Her gaze traveled over him appreciatively. "You demonstrated all three today. It was quite the display."
"You're not subtle at all, are you?"
"Why would I be? Life is too short for games." Apolline set down her glass and leaned forward slightly, giving him an excellent view of her cleavage. "I want you, Harry. I've wanted you since the opening ceremony, if I'm being honest. Maybe not with this much honesty, but yes. And based on how things have gone between us so far and how you're looking at me right now, I think the feeling is mutual."
"It is," Harry admitted, his eyes lingering on the curves of her breasts before traveling back up to meet her gaze. "I have to say though, your approach tonight is rather different from your tournament strategy."
"My tournament strategy was about control and manipulation. This..." She gestured between them. "This is about honesty. I'm done playing games with you. I want you in my bed, and I'm not going to pretend otherwise."
Her words sent a thrum of pleasure through his system, his manhood stirring as he took her in.
"Direct. I like it," he said, his voice husky.
"I thought you might." Apolline stood, moving around the table toward him. "But we should finish dinner first, non? I did go to all this trouble to prepare it."
To his slight surprise, she settled herself on his lap, straddling him right there in the dining chair. Her dress rode up, exposing her smooth thighs, and Harry's hands automatically went to her waist to steady her.
"Much more comfortable," Apolline murmured, her face inches from his. "Don't you think?"
"Definitely an improvement." Harry's thumbs traced circles on her hips through the thin silk. "Though I'm not sure how we're supposed to finish eating like this."
"We'll manage." She reached past him to spear a piece of chicken with her fork, bringing it to his lips. "Say 'ahh'."
Harry smirked but obeyed, and she fed him the bite. The food was delicious, but it was hard to focus on taste when Apolline was pressing against him, her body warm and soft and incredibly distracting.
"Your turn," she said, handing him her fork.
They continued like that, taking turns feeding each other, and it didn't take long for their lips to join. They kissed heatedly, like people possessed, their mouths ravenous and hungry for much more. They fed each other between kisses that grew progressively deeper and more passionate. Apolline ground against him slowly, her movements intentional and designed to drive him crazy. Harry's hands roamed her back, her sides, occasionally dipping lower to squeeze her ass through the silk.
"You're trouble," he murmured against her lips between bites.
"The best kind, I hope." Apolline nipped at his lower lip. "Tell me about Britain. About your estates. I want to know everything about you."
"Everything is a lot."
"We have all night." Her hips rolled against his. "Start with the interesting parts."
And he did. Harry told her about whatever he came up with, which was not more right now. However, he had plans, and he told her a bit about them, about the ancient wards and the extensive library he planned to create in the new Peverell Manor. He told her about his plans regarding restoring family properties and managing investments. Apolline listened with genuine interest, asking intelligent questions and offering insights from her own experience managing the Deschanel holdings.
They talked about magic, about politics, about the peculiarities of their respective countries' magical governments. Apolline had opinions on everything, and she wasn't shy about sharing them. Harry found himself enjoying the conversation as much as the physical intimacy. She was smart, well informed, and wickedly funny when she wanted to be.
"Clarisse told me you made her submit," Apolline said at one point, her voice dropping to a sultry whisper. "That you dominated her completely. Is it true?"
"She submitted willingly," Harry corrected. "There's a difference."
"But you took control. Made her yours." Apolline's eyes were dark with desire. "She said it was the most intense experience of her life."
"Did she tell you everything?"
"Every. Single. Detail." Apolline's tongue traced along his jaw, her breasts pressing hotly against his chest as she wrapped her arms around his neck. "She described exactly how you touched her, how you made her scream, how you marked her as yours. It was quite the bedtime story."
"And what did you think of this story?"
"I thought..." Apolline pulled back to meet his eyes. "I thought I wanted that too. I wanted to know what it felt like to surrender to someone who actually deserved it. Someone strong enough to handle a veela's fire without getting burned."
Harry's hands tightened on her ass, his fingers digging into the supple flesh and making her hiss in pleasure. "Is that what this is about? You want me to dominate you?"
"I want you to try." Her smile was challenging. "Clarisse is sweet and gentle. She might act confident sometimes, but I know she craves protection and guidance. But me?" She leaned in close, her lips brushing his ear. "I'm not gentle, Harry. I'm fire and passion and I don't submit easily. If you want me that way, you'll have to earn it."
"That sounds like a challenge." He squeezed her ass again.
"It is." Apolline bit his earlobe lightly. "The question is, are you up for it?"
Harry stood abruptly, lifting her with him. Apolline gasped, her legs wrapping around his waist instinctively as he carried her away from the table. He pressed her against the nearest wall, his body pinning hers, and captured her mouth in a kiss that was anything but gentle.
Apolline moaned into his mouth, her fingers tangling in his hair as she kissed him back with equal fervor. Their tongues tangled, tasting wine and desire and mutual hunger. Harry's hands roamed freely now, one cupping her breast through the silk while the other slid up her bare thigh. He squeezed her breast roughly, making her moan into the kiss, and Harry shut her up by kissing her harder.
When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, Apolline's eyes were blazing silver. Her veela nature was rising to the surface, responding to his aggression with her own fierce desire.
"Better," she panted. "Much better."
Harry kissed down her neck, sucking hard enough to leave marks. Apolline arched against him, her nails digging into his shoulders. His hand slipped higher under her dress, and he paused when he discovered she wasn't wearing anything underneath.
"Confident," he murmured against her throat.
"Prepared," Apolline corrected breathlessly. "I told you, I'm done with games. I want you, and I saw no reason to waste time with unnecessary barriers."
Harry's fingers traced along her inner thigh, teasing but not quite touching where she wanted. "And if I'd said no to this dinner?"
"Then I would have seduced you at the tournament closing ceremony." Her hips rolled against his hand, seeking contact. "Or ambushed you at your chateau. Or followed you back to Britain if necessary. One way or another, Harry Peverell, I was going to have you."
"Determined, aren't you?" He murmured, biting down gently on her skin. His fingers slid up, and finally, he teased her wet lower lips.
"You have no idea." Apolline gasped as his fingers finally made contact, stroking through her wetness. "Oh fuck, yes."
Harry worked her with his fingers, his thumb circling her clit while two fingers parted her wet folds and slid inside. Apolline's head fell back against the wall, her breath coming in short pants as he built her pleasure steadily higher.
"Look at me," Harry commanded softly.
Apolline's eyes opened, meeting his. They were pure silver now, her veela completely in control. "Don't stop."
"I won't." Harry increased the pressure, his fingers curling to hit that perfect spot inside her. His thumb worked her clit frantically, driving her ever closer to the fastest orgasm of her life.
"Come for me, Apolline. Come on my fingers. Let me see what you look like when you fall apart."
Her orgasm hit hard and sudden. Apolline cried out, her whole body tensing as pleasure crashed through her. Harry held her through it, his fingers slowing down as the waves subsided.
"Fuck," Apolline breathed when she could speak again. "That was..."
"Out of words?" Harry teased, and Apolline watched as he pulled his fingers up and sucked her juices off clean. The sight sent another jolt of pleasure through her.
"Delicious," he said teasingly.
"Oh, Harry Peverell," she growled hotly. "You're going to be one lucky bastard tonight."
"Tell me something I don't know."
Suddenly, the wards around the property screamed.
Both of them froze. The sound was unmistakable, a high pitched magical alarm that meant one thing. Someone had breached the property's defenses.
"Shit." Apolline pushed away from the wall, her dress falling back into place. Her wand appeared in her hand from wherever she'd stashed it. "We're under attack."
Harry already had his own wand out, his mind shifting instantly from arousal to combat readiness. "Dolohov. Has to be."
"He's an idiot if he thinks he'd get away with this."
"I believe that's exactly what he thinks. How many?"
"The wards aren't that specific. At least four, maybe more." Apolline moved to the window, peering out into the darkness. "They came through the eastern boundary. Whoever they are, they know what they're doing. Those wards should have held longer."
A curse exploded through the dining room window. Glass shattered inward, and Harry threw up a shield instinctively. The curse splattered against it, sizzling with dark magic.
"Five attackers," Apolline said, her eyes tracking movement outside. "All masked. And yes, one of them moves like Dolohov."
More curses came, a barrage designed to overwhelm their defenses. Harry and Apolline split up automatically, taking positions on either side of the shattered window. They returned fire together, their spells coordinated despite never having fought as a team before.
"Side entrance," Apolline snapped. "Two of them are trying to flank us."
Harry sent a cutting curse through the wall in that direction. There was a scream, cut short. One down.
The front door exploded inward. Three masked figures rushed through, wands blazing. Harry recognized Dolohov's distinctive fighting style immediately, that combination of brutal power and precise curse work.
"Mine," Harry snarled, launching himself toward the Bulgarian.
Apolline engaged the other two, her veela fire erupting in a torrent of silver flame. The attackers tried to shield, but veela fire didn't play by normal rules. It wrapped around their barriers, seeking gaps and weak points.
Harry and Dolohov's spells met in the middle of the room with a crack like thunder. They circled each other, trading curses with lethal intent. No rules now. No referees. No crowds. Just two wizards trying to kill each other.
"You should have stayed down," Harry said coldly. "Should have accepted your loss and walked away."
"The Peverell line ends tonight," Dolohov spat back in heavily accented English. His next curse was black and twisted, designed to cause necrotic damage to flesh. Harry dodged and countered with a bone breaker that Dolohov barely deflected.
They moved through the house, destroying furniture and walls with their battle. Behind them, Apolline was holding her own against two attackers, but Harry couldn't spare attention for that. Dolohov had his full focus now, fighting with the desperate fury of a man who knew this was his last chance.
A purple cutting curse screamed toward Harry's head. He dropped and rolled, came up casting. Silver chains erupted from his wand, the same binding spell he'd used in the arena. But Dolohov had seen it before, knew what was coming. He dodged desperately, the chains missing by inches.
"Not this time," Dolohov snarled. "I learned my lesson."
"Did you?" Harry's wand moved in a different pattern, building toward something much more dangerous. "Because it looks to me like you're making the same mistakes. Underestimating your opponent. Letting anger cloud your judgment. Fighting on emotion instead of strategy."
A blasting curse exploded between them, throwing both wizards backward. Harry rolled with it, coming up smoothly. Dolohov crashed into a wall hard enough to crack the plaster.
Harry didn't give him time to recover. He was done playing. Done holding back. Dolohov had attacked him outside the safety of tournament rules, had brought masked thugs to kill him in what should have been a private celebration. The Bulgarian wanted brutal? He'd get it.
The spell Harry cast was old magic. Dark, technically, but not an Unforgivable. It wrapped around Dolohov like invisible claws, finding every nerve in his body and setting them on fire with magical agony.
Dolohov screamed.
Harry held the spell for three seconds. Long enough to make his point. When he released it, Dolohov collapsed to the floor, gasping and twitching.
"That's what you did to Rodriguez," Harry said quietly. "To Apolline. To every other duelist you've faced. How does it feel?"
Dolohov tried to raise his wand. Harry kicked it away contemptuously.
"You're finished," Harry continued. "Your reputation is destroyed. Your ambush failed. And now everyone will know you're nothing but a coward who attacks people in their homes when he can't beat them in fair combat."
"Fuck you, Peverell," Dolohov managed through gritted teeth.
"No, fuck you, Dolohov."
Harry's next spell was a stunner, but he put enough power behind it to send Dolohov crashing through the already damaged wall into the next room.
A scream from behind made Harry turn. Apolline had taken down one attacker permanently, the man lying motionless in a pool of spreading blood. But the second had gotten through her defenses, a nasty curse catching her shoulder. She stumbled, her fire flickering.
Harry was moving before conscious thought. A cutting curse took the attacker's wand hand off at the wrist. The man's scream was short lived, cut off by Harry's follow up spell that stopped his heart immediately.
The fifth attacker, seeing his companions dead or disabled, tried to run. Harry's stunner caught him in the back, and he went down hard. Another stunner followed a petrification hex, one that would ensure the attacker won't be able to move anytime soon.
In the sudden silence that followed, Harry could hear both his and Apolline's ragged breathing. The house was a disaster. Walls were demolished, furniture reduced to splinters, and scorch marks everywhere.
"Your shoulder," Harry said, immediately moving to Apolline's side.
"It's not bad." She was already healing it with her wand, though her face was pale with pain. "Just a cutting curse. I've had worse."
A crash from the other room told them Dolohov was trying to escape. Harry started toward the sound, but Apolline caught his arm.
"Let him go," she said urgently. "He's a marked man now. Attacking a member of a noble family on their own property? He's finished. Completely finished."
"He tried to kill us."
"And failed. Spectacularly." Apolline managed a weak smile. "Let the law handle him now. You've done enough."
Harry wanted to argue, wanted to chase Dolohov down and end this permanently. Dolohov could return to end this in the future, whenever it was. However, Apolline was right as well. They had three bodies as evidence, one stunned prisoner, and property damage that clearly showed an unprovoked attack. Dolohov was done, even if he escaped tonight, and the thought of him on the run while being hunted was an attractive one.
It was not the most prudent choice, but it could be a lot worse.
The sound of apparition outside told them Dolohov had managed to get past the wards. Probably had help from the outside, someone to create a gap in the defenses.
"Bastard," Harry muttered.
"He'll be caught," Apolline said with certainty. "The French Ministry takes attacks on noble families very seriously. There will be an international manhunt by morning."
She swayed slightly as the adrenaline wore off, and Harry caught her. "Come on. Let's get you sitting down before you fall down."
They made their way back to the dining room, which was miraculously the least damaged room in the house. Apolline sank into one of the chairs with a grateful sigh, and Harry poured her some more wine.
"That was close," she said after taking a long drink. "Too close."
"Yeah." Harry settled into his own chair, the adrenaline starting to fade for him as well and leaving him feeling hollow. "I should have seen it coming. I mean, I knew he won't accept defeat so easily, but I didn't think he'd act so quickly. I thought he'd bide his time like the snake he is. Should have had better protection in place."
"How could you have known he'd attack here? We thought we were safe. The tournament was over, and the wards here are some of the strongest there are." Apolline reached across the table to take his hand. "Don't blame yourself for Dolohov being a psychotic bastard."
"Psychotic, but resourceful."
They sat in silence for a moment, processing what had just happened. Then Apolline laughed, sounding a bit hysterical, but she quickly got it under control.
"What?" Harry asked.
"We just survived an assassination attempt," Apolline said, her eyes bright with a mixture of shock and something darker. "And all I can think about is how angry I am that they interrupted us. We were just getting to the good part."
Harry felt a laugh bubble up despite everything. "You're not wrong."
"I know I'm not." Apolline stood, moving around the table to him again. "And I think..." She straddled his lap again, her hands framing his face. "I think we should finish what we started."
"Now? After all that?"
"Especially after all that." Apolline's kiss was fierce and desperate. "I need this. Need you. Need to feel alive now after coming so close to death."
Harry understood. The adrenaline, the fear, the primal need to affirm life in the face of mortality. His hands found her waist, pulling her closer.
"We need to call the aurors too," he pointed out between kisses.
"Then we better make this quick." Apolline's hands were already working at his belt. "Besides, the bedroom is still intact. We could move there."
Harry stood with her in his arms, and Apolline's legs wrapped around his waist automatically. She pressed herself against his throbbing manhood, trying to impale herself through the layers. Their lips stayed locked in a fierce kiss, their tongues tangling hotly as he carried her through the damaged house to the bedroom she'd indicated, kicking the door shut behind them.
As Harry carried her over to the bed, he knew this would be anything but quick.
TBC.
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