The abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of Marseille stank of rotting fish and trash. Dolohov materialized in the designated safe zone, his body still wracked with agony from Peverell's curse. He stumbled, barely catching himself against a rusted metal crate before his legs gave out entirely.
Every nerve in his body screamed. It felt like molten glass was being poured through his veins, like his bones were splintering from the inside out. He tried to draw breath and even that simple act sent fresh waves of torment cascading through his chest.
"Antonin."
Konstantin Volkov's voice cut through the haze of pain. Dolohov managed to lift his head, his vision swimming as three figures coalesced from the shadows. Volkov stood in the center, flanked by two of his enforcers. The Bulgarian broker's face was carved from ice.
"You look like shit," Volkov observed, his tone devoid of sympathy.
Dolohov tried to speak. His mouth opened but only a strangled gasp emerged. The pain intensified, as if his attempt to form words had angered whatever magic was eating him alive from the inside.
"Can't talk? Good. Then you can listen." Volkov moved closer, each footstep echoing in the cavernous space. "Do you have any idea what you've done? Any conception of how monumentally you've fucked this up?"
Another wave of agony crashed through Dolohov. He convulsed, his fingers scrabbling uselessly against the concrete floor. His wand lay forgotten somewhere in the wreckage he'd left behind. Not that it would help. He couldn't focus enough to cast a simple lumos, let alone something that might counter whatever Peverell had done to him.
"You didn't just attack Lord Peverell," Volkov continued, his voice growing colder with each word. "You attacked him while he was with Apolline Deschanel. The daughter of one of the most powerful families in France. On their property. Do you understand what that means?"
Dolohov's vision blurred. Sweat poured down his face despite the chill in the air. He wanted to scream that he didn't need to be told that, that none of the two were meant to survive, that this was supposed to be quick and clean. But his throat wouldn't cooperate.
"The French aurors are probably mobilizing as we speak. Not just the local office. The entire Department of Magical Law Enforcement. They'd be calling in favors from half of Europe." Volkov crouched down, bringing his face level with Dolohov's. "Attacking a Deschanel is like spitting in the face of French magical nobility. They will hunt you to the ends of the earth for this."
Pain lanced through Dolohov's skull. He could feel his own magic trying to respond, trying to do something, anything to help. But every time it stirred, the curse tightened its grip. It was feeding on his attempts to use magic, growing stronger with each desperate try.
"And Malfoy." Volkov's laugh was bitter. "Oh, Antonin, Lucius Malfoy is going to be apoplectic. He hired you for a subtle removal. Instead, you've created an international incident that's going to have British and French authorities working together. You've made Lord Peverell into a victim, a hero who survived an assassination attempt. His standing in Britain just went from respected to untouchable."
The words penetrated through the fog of agony. Dolohov's rage, always simmering, began to boil. Malfoy. That preening aristocratic bastard with his careful plans and his cowardly distance from the actual work. This was his fault. If Malfoy had dealt with his own problems instead of hiring out, none of this would have happened.
"The organization is taking a massive hit because of you," Volkov continued. "We built our reputation on discretion. On solving problems without leaving traces. You've left a trail wide enough for a blind man to follow. Three bodies. One prisoner who's going to sing the moment he wakes up. Property destruction that half of France will read about in tomorrow's daily."
Dolohov's hands clenched into fists. His nails drew blood from his palms but the sharp pain was nothing compared to what the curse was doing to him. Through the haze, that caster's name burned in his mind. Peverell. The British lord who'd played him like a fool twice now. First in the arena, then in that house. Had he known? Had he anticipated the ambush?
"This is the last help you're getting from me," Volkov said, standing up. "We got you out because of old times' sake. Consider all the debts repaid. From here on, you're on your own. The organization is cutting all ties. You're radioactive, Antonin. Toxic. Nobody in our network will touch you now."
Another convulsion wracked Dolohov's body. His spine arched, tendons standing out like cords in his neck. Somewhere in the distance, he heard himself making sounds. Not quite human. More like an animal caught in a trap.
"I almost feel sorry for you," Volkov said, though his voice held no trace of pity. "Whatever Peverell hit you with, it's vicious. I've seen dark curses before but this? This is something else entirely." He paused, studying Dolohov's twitching form. "If you're smart, you'll find a healer. Someone discreet. Though given your current reputation, I'm not sure who'd risk treating you."
Volkov turned away. His two enforcers followed, their footsteps receding into the darkness. At the entrance, Volkov paused.
"For what it's worth, Antonin, you had potential. You were one of the best I knew. But you let pride destroy you. Twice." The door creaked open. "Good luck. You're going to need it."
The sound of apparition echoed through the warehouse. Then silence, broken only by Dolohov's ragged breathing and the occasional whimper that escaped despite his best efforts to contain it.
Alone now, Dolohov tried to focus. Tried to take stock of his situation. He was a wanted man. Hunted by multiple governments. Abandoned by his contacts. And cursed with whatever hellish magic Peverell had unleashed on him.
The rage inside him found new targets. Volkov, the sanctimonious bastard who'd cut him loose the moment things went sideways. Malfoy, hiding in his mansion while better men did his dirty work. Apolline Deschanel, that veela whore who'd gotten in the way. And Peverell. Especially Peverell.
He tried to push himself up. His arms shook violently, his muscles spasming as the curse flared brighter. It felt like his bones were being crushed and reformed, over and over in an endless cycle. Like his blood had turned to acid. Like every cell in his body was simultaneously being torn apart and stitched back together.
Was this what the Cruciatus felt like? Dolohov had cast it enough times. Had watched victims writhe and scream under its effects. But he'd never truly understood. Not until now. But this was worse. The Cruciatus eventually ended. This just kept going, waves of torment with no respite in sight.
He managed to roll onto his side. The movement sent fresh spikes of pain radiating through his torso. His vision swam, dark spots dancing at the edges. For a moment he thought he might pass out. But the curse wouldn't even allow him that mercy. Every time unconsciousness beckoned, the pain intensified just enough to yank him back.
What had Peverell done to him? What kind of curse was this? Dolohov's mind raced, cataloging every dark spell he knew. Nothing matched. The pattern was wrong. The intensity was unprecedented. This wasn't standard dark magic. This was something older. Something nastier.
Another spasm. His back arched, tendons screaming. He tried to reach for his magic again, some instinct telling him he needed to do something, anything. But the moment his magic stirred, agony exploded through his entire being. It was like grabbing a white hot poker. Like diving into a pool of molten metal.
He released his magic immediately, gasping. The lesson was clear. Whatever this curse was, it fed on magical energy. Every attempt to use his power made it worse.
Trapped. He was trapped in his own body, his greatest weapon turned against him. His magic, the thing that had defined him since childhood, felt like poison.
Through the pain, through the rage, through the humiliation, one thought solidified in Dolohov's mind. He'd made an enemy of the wrong wizard. Harry Peverell wasn't just skilled. He was ruthless in a way Dolohov hadn't anticipated. The young lord played the civilized nobleman, but underneath lurked something far more dangerous.
Dolohov had wanted to destroy the Peverell line. Instead, he'd destroyed himself.
The warehouse was cold. His body was failing. The curse was eating him alive from the inside out. And somewhere out there, the aurors were mobilizing. Searching. Hunting.
He tried to think about escape routes. Safe houses. Contacts who might still help despite Volkov's warning. But coherent thought was becoming impossible. The pain was all consuming, demanding his full attention. Every breath was a battle. Every heartbeat a fresh reminder of his failure.
Harry Peverell had won. Completely and utterly. Not just in the arena. Not just in the ambush. But in this final, terrible curse that would haunt Dolohov for whatever time he had left.
His last clear thought before the pain dragged him under completely was a curse. Not spoken, not cast, but felt with every fiber of his being. A curse directed at the young British lord who'd proven to be far more than anyone had expected.
I'll see you in hell, Peverell.
Then the agony swallowed him whole, and Dolohov knew nothing but suffering.
-Break-
The bedroom was softly lit by enchanted candles that cast flickering shadows across cream colored walls. Harry kicked the door shut behind them, Apolline still wrapped around him, her lips hot against his neck.
She'd been right. Despite everything that had just happened, despite the violence and the near death experience, all he wanted was her. All he needed was to lose himself in her warmth and forget about masked attackers and bitter enemies.
Apolline pulled back just enough to look at him. Her eyes were still silver, her veela nature burning bright in the aftermath of combat. "I need you to understand something," she said, her voice husky. "I'm not Clarisse. I won't submit easily. I won't break."
"I don't want you to break." Harry's hands slid up her sides, feeling the silk of her dress bunch under his palms. "I want you to burn."
Her laugh was low and pleased. "Then let's see how well you can handle the heat."
She kissed him fiercely, all teeth and tongue and desperate hunger. Harry responded in kind, one hand tangling in her platinum hair while the other gripped her hip hard enough to leave marks. Apolline moaned into his mouth, grinding against him in a rhythm that made his cock throb with need.
He walked them to the bed, never breaking the kiss. When the backs of his legs hit the mattress, he sat down hard, pulling Apolline with him. She straddled his lap properly now, her dress riding up to her waist and exposing the fact that she was still completely bare underneath.
"You really are something else," Harry murmured, his hands sliding up her bare thighs.
"I told you. I'm done with games." Apolline's fingers worked at the buttons of his shirt, pulling them free one by one. "I knew what I wanted the moment I saw you step into that arena for the finals. Knew I'd have you before this tournament ended."
"Confident."
"Right." She pushed his shirt off his shoulders, her nails raking lightly down his chest. "I'm always right about these things."
Harry captured her wrists, pinning them behind her back with one hand. Apolline gasped, arching forward as the position thrust her breasts toward him. "Are you?" he asked, his free hand cupping one breast through the silk.
"Oh yes." Her breathing quickened as his thumb found her nipple, circling it through the thin fabric. "I am very skilled when it comes to strategy. And pleasure."
"And the difference is?"
"I had a feeling I would lose to you in the arena." Apolline's eyes locked with his, blazing silver and utterly unashamed. "Here? I know I can win."
Harry's grip on her wrists tightened. "What's winning look like to you?"
"Making you lose control." Her hips rolled against his erection, slow and teasing. "Making you forget about being a lord, about being civilized, about being anything except a man who needs to be inside me right fucking now."
Something in Harry's chest loosened at her words. The careful control he always maintained, the mask he wore as Lord Peverell, started to crack. Apolline saw it happen. Her smile turned triumphant as she grinned saucily.
"There you are," she purred.
Harry released her wrists and grabbed the neckline of her dress. One sharp pull and the silk tore, the sound loud in the quiet room. Apolline's gasp turned into a moan as he bared her breasts, the ruined dress falling away to pool around her waist.
"That was expensive," she said breathlessly.
"I'll buy you ten more." Harry's mouth closed on her nipple, sucking hard. Apolline's back arched, her fingers tangling in his hair as she held him against her. He lavished attention on one breast and then the other, alternating between his mouth and his hands until she was trembling.
"Harry." His name on her lips was half plea, half demand. "Stop teasing."
"Who's losing control now?" But even as he said it, Harry stood and flipped their positions. Apolline landed on her back on the bed with a surprised laugh that turned into a gasp as he yanked the remains of her dress away completely. She lay before him naked and glorious, her skin flushed and her hair spread across the pillows like liquid silver.
"Beautiful," Harry said, drinking in the sight of her.
"Then stop staring and touch me." Apolline reached up, pulling him down on top of her. The feel of her bare skin against his was electric. She worked at his belt with quick fingers, shoving his trousers down his hips until his cock sprang free, hard and ready.
Her hand wrapped around him immediately, stroking from base to tip with a confidence that made his hips jerk forward. "Someone's eager," she teased.
"You've been grinding on me for the last hour." Harry captured her mouth in another bruising kiss. "What did you expect?"
"Exactly this." Her thumb circled the head of his cock, spreading the moisture gathered there. "I want you desperate for me. I want you mindless with need."
"Getting there," Harry admitted. His own hand slid between her thighs, finding her wet and ready. He circled her clit with his thumb while two fingers pushed inside, and Apolline's moan vibrated against his lips.
They moved together, their hands working in tandem to drive each other higher. Apolline's free hand gripped his shoulder, her nails digging into muscle as he found that perfect spot inside her. Harry's control was fraying further with each stroke of her hand on his cock, with each breathy moan she released.
"Enough," Apolline finally gasped, pulling her hand away. "I need you inside me. Now."
Harry didn't need to be told twice. He shifted between her legs and positioned himself at her entrance, the head of his cock sliding through her wetness. He teased her, rubbing the head through her folds, and chuckled at the needy whimper that escaped her.
Apolline's legs came up, wrapping around his waist as she tried to pull him in deeper.
"Impatient," he said against her throat, pressing the head right at her entrance.
"Always." Her hips lifted, taking him an inch deeper. The head popped inside, and she gasped. "Harry, please."
He thrust forward in one smooth motion, burying himself completely inside her. Apolline cried out, her back arching off the bed as he filled her. For a moment they both went still, adjusting to the sensation. She was tight and hot around him, her inner walls clenching rhythmically around his hard cock.
"Move," Apolline demanded, her eyes glowing silver and her legs tightening around him. "Harry, move."
He pulled back slowly, watching her face as he withdrew almost completely. Then he thrust back in hard enough to make the bed shake. Apolline's eyes rolled back, a stream of curses in French pouring from her lips. He couldn't understand all of it but the sentiment was clear. More. Harder. Don't stop.
Harry set a punishing pace, each thrust driving deeper. Apolline met him stroke for stroke, her hips rising to take him in fully. The room filled with the sounds of their raw fucking, skin slapping against skin, breathless moans and gasped encouragements.
Her veela nature was fully present now. Silver fire danced along her skin wherever they touched, warm but not burning. It wrapped around them both, amplifying every sensation until Harry could barely think straight. Every nerve ending sang with pleasure. Every touch sent sparks racing down his spine.
"Harder," Apolline gasped, her nails raking down his back. "Don't hold back. I can take it."
Harry shifted his angle, grabbing her hips for better leverage. His next thrust made her scream, and the sound went straight to his cock. He pounded into her relentlessly, chasing both their pleasure with single minded focus.
Apolline's hand slipped between their bodies, her fingers finding her clit. She rubbed in tight circles, her movements growing erratic as her orgasm approached. "Close," she panted. "So close. Don't stop, don't you dare stop."
"Not stopping." Harry's own release was building at the base of his spine, pressure mounting with each thrust. "Come for me. Let me feel it."
Her climax hit with the force of a tidal wave. Apolline's entire body went rigid, her inner walls clamping down on him like a vice. She screamed his name, the sound echoing off the walls as pleasure crashed through her. The silver fire flared bright, enveloping them both.
The sensation of her coming apart beneath him, around him, was too much. Harry followed her over the edge with a groan, his hips stuttering as he spilled inside her. Wave after wave of intense pleasure rolled through him, whiting out his vision for several heartbeats.
When awareness returned, he was collapsed on top of her, both of them breathing hard. Apolline's legs were still wrapped around him, her hands stroking lazily up and down his back. The silver fire had faded to a warm glow that felt comforting rather than intense.
"That was," she started, then trailed off with a satisfied hum. "Yes. That was exactly what I needed."
Harry managed to lift his head enough to look at her. "Same."
She smiled, reaching up to brush sweat dampened hair from his forehead. "You're not done though, are you?"
"Give me a bit to recover."
"Take your time." Apolline's smile turned wicked. "I'm not going anywhere."
Harry rolled to the side, taking her with him so they ended up tangled together. His cock slipped free and she made a small sound of protest at the loss. They lay there for several minutes, just breathing and existing in the peaceful aftermath of their climaxes.
Eventually, Apolline propped herself up on one elbow to look at him. "So. Dolohov."
The name was like cold water. Harry grimaced. "Do we have to talk about him right now?"
"You let him escape, because of me," Apolline pointed out. "I want to make sure I made the right choice."
Harry was quiet for a moment, his hand tracing idle patterns on her hip. "I won't lie to you, Apolline. I would've preferred to finish him right then and there."
"Then why didn't you?" She asked quietly.
"Because the idea of him being hunted in his state was more appealing," Harry replied, holding her close. "I made sure he didn't escape unscathed."
"What do you mean?"
"That curse I hit him with." Harry's eyes met hers. "It's not something that just fades. It's old magic. Obscure. The kind of thing you only find in the darkest corners of ancient grimoires."
Apolline's interest sharpened. "Tell me."
Harry took a breath, organizing his thoughts. "It's called the Eternal Agony Curse in the texts I found. Though that's a bit melodramatic. Basically, it targets the victim's nervous system and their magic simultaneously."
"I saw how much pain he was in," Apolline said. "But curses fade. Given time and treatment, he'll recover."
"That's the thing. He won't." Harry's expression was grim. "The curse works in phases, and how quickly these phases kick in fully depends on the victim. Initially, the victim experiences intense pain but it's manageable. It's agonizing, I won't lie, but it's manageable. Then the second phase kicks in if the curse if left untreated."
"What happens then?"
"Phantom pains. Constant, escalating phantom pains that feel worse than the Cruciatus. They don't stop. They don't fade. Every hour that passes, they get worse." Harry's fingers kept moving on her hip. "Eventually, the victim either goes mad from the pain or they kill themselves to escape it. I don't think they have a third option."
Apolline stared at him, her expression caught between horror and fascination. "That's barbaric."
"It's exactly what someone like Dolohov deserves." Harry's voice was cold. "You know what he's done. Beyond the tournament duelist, you must know what he is. We wouldn't have been his first victims if he'd succeeded. And we wouldn't have been his last if he'd walked away clean tonight."
"I'm not arguing with you," Apolline said carefully. "But if he's going mad from pain, he could be dangerous. Lash out at innocent people."
Harry's smiled sharply. "That's where it gets interesting. The curse specifically targets the magic. Any attempt to use magic, even something as simple as a lumos, causes the pain to spike dramatically. It becomes unbearable within seconds of trying to cast."
Understanding dawned in Apolline's eyes. "He can't defend himself. He can't attack anyone. He can't even apparate away if someone corners him."
"Exactly. Just escaping this place would've taken a lot out of him. I can only imagine how much pain he must be in right now. He's essentially a squib. A squib in constant, escalating agony who will have a manhunt for him soon." Harry's expression showed no remorse. "Either the aurors catch him and he spends the rest of his short life in prison, unable to use magic and writhing in pain. Or he kills himself to escape it. Or he goes completely mad and becomes nothing more than a broken shell who can't hurt anyone."
"How long does he have? Before the pain drives him to suicide or madness?"
"It will improve eventually, but I can't tell how long it'd take for him. As I said, it totally depends on the victim," Harry's expression turned thoughtful. "But from what I've been able to gather from his magical power, he can get back to normal within two weeks, or three. But the question is if he's got the pain tolerance to survive that long and keep his mind intact. If he doesn't try to use magic in any manner, he might have a chance. Otherwise…"
Apolline was quiet for a long moment, processing this information. When she spoke again, her voice was thoughtful. "Where did you learn something like this? This isn't the kind of magic you find just laying around in bookstores or libraries. I doubt even the great library at Hogwarts has texts that cover this kind of magic."
Harry pulled her closer, his lips brushing her temple. "That's a secret."
"Harry." She poked him in the ribs. "You can't drop something like that and then refuse to elaborate."
"I can do whatever I want. I'm a lord, remember?" He grinned at her expression. "Besides, a man needs some mysteries."
"This isn't a mystery. This is you being intentionally infuriating."
"Then I guess you'll have to find ways to persuade me." Harry's hand slid lower, cupping her ass. "Though I should warn you, I can be very stubborn."
Apolline's eyes gleamed. "Is that a challenge?"
"Take it however you want."
She pushed him onto his back, throwing her leg over his waist and straddling him. Her hands pressed flat against his chest as she leaned down, her hair falling around them like a curtain. "You're going to tell me eventually, you know. I can be very persuasive when I want to be."
"I'm counting on it." Harry's hands found her waist, holding her in place. His cock was already hardening again, responding to her proximity and the heat in her eyes.
Apolline felt it harden beneath her, her smile turning sultry. "Someone's ready for round two."
"You're naked and on top of me. What did you expect?"
"Mmm, fair point." She ground down against him, sliding her wet heat along his growing erection. "Though we should probably call the aurors soon. Report the attack officially."
"Probably," Harry agreed, his hips lifting to meet her movements. "Should we do that now?"
"We should." Apolline lifted slightly, wrapping her fingers around the base of his cock and positioning him at her entrance. "But I'd rather do this instead."
She sank down slowly, taking him in inch by inch until he was fully sheathed inside her. They both groaned at the sensation. She felt impossibly tight from this angle, her body stretched around him in the most perfect way.
"The aurors can wait," Harry managed, his fingers digging into her hips.
"My thoughts exactly." Apolline began to move, rising and falling in a steady rhythm. Her hands braced on his chest for leverage as she rode him, her breasts bouncing with each movement.
Harry watched her, completely mesmerized. The candlelight played across her skin, highlighting every curve and plane. Her eyes were closed, her head tilted back as she lost herself in the sensation. She was magnificent like this, taking her pleasure without hesitation or shame.
His hands roamed her body, caressing and exploring. He traced the curve of her waist, the flare of her hips, and the smooth expanse of her stomach. When his thumbs found her nipples, circling and teasing, Apolline moaned and picked up her pace.
"That's it," Harry encouraged, his own hips rising to meet her. "Take what you want."
"Always do." Apolline's movements became more urgent, chasing her release. One hand left his chest to slide between her legs, her fingers finding her clit. She rubbed in quick circles while continuing to ride him, her body tensing as pleasure built.
Harry felt his own orgasm approaching but he held back, wanting to watch her come apart first. Wanted to see her lose control, wanted to be buried inside her when she shattered.
"Harry." His name was a breathless gasp. "Touch me. Please."
He sat up, wrapping one arm around her waist while his other hand replaced hers between her legs. His fingers found her clit, rubbing in the firm circles he'd learned she liked. Apolline's arms came around his neck, holding on as he worked her closer to the edge.
"That's it," Harry murmured against her throat. "Let go. I've got you."
Her second orgasm was quieter than the first but no less intense. She buried her face in his neck, her body trembling as waves of pleasure rolled through her. Her inner walls fluttered around him, milking his cock in a rhythm that finally pushed him over the edge too.
They clung to each other as they came down, heartbeats gradually slowing. Apolline's silver fire had wrapped around them again, warm and comforting like a blanket. Harry pressed kisses to her shoulder, her neck, anywhere he could reach while she caught her breath.
"Okay," Apolline finally said, her voice muffled against his skin. "Now we can call the aurors."
Harry laughed, the sound rumbling through his chest. "Romance is dead."
"Romance can resume after we deal with the authorities." She pulled back to look at him, her expression fond. "Besides, the sooner we handle the official business, the sooner we can get back to this."
"Good point." Harry helped her climb off him, both of them wincing at the separation. "We should probably get dressed first."
"Probably. Don't want to give random strangers a show just yet," Apolline winked before she looked down at the remains of her torn dress with a rueful smile. "You owe me a new wardrobe."
"You're a witch," Harry deadpanned.
"Fixing my dress with magic? Please, I have standards," Apolline said haughtily. "It's something new or something new. For me, there's no other option."
"I'll buy you a dozen dresses then." Harry found his trousers and pulled them on. "All in that blue silk you were wearing tonight."
"It suited me, didn't it?" She vanished the torn fabric and summoned a fresh dress from the wardrobe, this one a more modest dark green. "You're lucky I keep clothes here."
They dressed quickly, helping each other with buttons and clasps. By unspoken agreement, they avoided looking at the damage to the rest of the house as they made their way back to the dining room. That could be dealt with later.
Apolline pulled out her wand and cast a charm. Silver light shot from her wand and disappeared through the ceiling. Harry recognized it as the emergency signal to the DMLE. It was reserved for families like theirs, akin to priority and preferential treatment. He suspected the aurors would be here within seconds.
Apolline settled into one of the dining chairs. "Our aurors take attacks on noble families very seriously. We should expect a full investigation team."
"Should we get our stories straight?"
"The truth will suffice, don't you think? Five masked attackers broke through the wards. We defended ourselves. One got captured alive while the others fled or died. Simple."
Harry sat down across from her. "You're very calm about this."
"I grew up in French magical nobility. This isn't my first encounter with violence, Harry. Though I'll admit, it's the first time someone tried to kill me in one of my properties." Her expression hardened. "Dolohov will pay for that. One way or another."
The sound of multiple apparitions outside announced the arrival of the aurors. Moments later, the front door burst open and a dozen wand wielding wizards and witches poured in, their red and gold robes marking them as official law enforcement.
"Mademoiselle Deschanel!" The leader, a stern faced woman with iron gray hair, rushed forward. "Tu es blessé?"
"I'm fine, Captain Beaumont." Apolline replied in English as she rose gracefully, every inch the noble lady despite what she'd been doing on his cock mere minutes ago. "Lord Peverell and I successfully repelled our attackers."
Captain Beaumont's sharp eyes moved to Harry, recognition flashing across her face. "Lord Peverell," she said respectfully in fluent English. "The tournament champion. It's an honor. I wish we were meeting under better circumstances."
"Captain." Harry inclined his head respectfully. "Thank you for responding so quickly."
"Of course. An attack on a member of the Deschanel family is an attack on France itself." Beaumont's expression turned grim as she surveyed the damage visible from their position. "Can you tell me what happened?"
They walked the captain through the events, keeping to the facts. Apolline explained about the dinner, the sudden breach of the wards, and the attackers. Harry described the fighting, the deaths, and the stunned prisoner they'd left behind.
"And you're certain one of the attackers was Antonin Dolohov?" Beaumont asked.
"Absolutely certain," Harry confirmed.
"This is most serious." Beaumont gestured to her team, sending them throughout the property to gather evidence. "Dolohov was already frowned upon because of his conduct during the tournament. This attack changes everything. I'll be issuing an international arrest warrant the moment we're done here."
"He was hit with several curses during the fight," Apolline added. "He may be injured."
"Good. That will make him easier to track." Beaumont pulled out a notebook, jotting down details. "The prisoner you mentioned. Where is he?"
"Back bedroom," Harry said. "Still stunned and petrified."
Beaumont sent two of her aurors to retrieve the unconscious attacker. "He'll be questioned under Veritaserum immediately. If he knows where Dolohov is hiding, we'll have it in no time."
They spent the next few minutes going over every detail. What spells were used, what the attackers said, any identifying features visible despite the masks. Harry left out the specifics of the curse he'd used on Dolohov, describing it only as a painful hex. No need to reveal all his secrets to the authorities.
Finally, Beaumont seemed satisfied. "We have enough to proceed. I'll have teams searching every known associate of Dolohov's. Every safe house, every contact. He won't be able to hide for long."
"I have faith in your abilities, Captain," Apolline said smoothly.
"Merci, Mademoiselle." Beaumont turned to Harry. "Lord Peverell, I must ask that you remain available for further questioning if needed. Though as the victim of an attempted assassination, you're free to leave France if you wish."
"I'll be staying a few more days," Harry said. "You can reach me through Amelia Bones. She's the lead of the auror team I came here with."
"Very good." Beaumont made a final note. "I want to assure you both that the full resources of the Département de la Sécurité Magique are being mobilized for this. Dolohov will be found and brought to justice."
Harry and Apolline exchanged a look. A heated smirk passed between them, one that went unnoticed by the captain and her team. They both knew the truth. Dolohov was already suffering far worse than any prison sentence could provide. Whether the aurors caught him or not, justice had already been served.
"Thank you, Captain," Apolline said. "That's very reassuring."
Beaumont and her team worked on documenting everything, removing the bodies, and taking the prisoner away for questioning. Finally, they departed with promises to keep Harry and Apolline informed of any developments.
The house fell quiet again. Harry and Apolline stood in the entrance hall, surrounded by the evidence of the night's violence.
"Well," Apolline said after a moment. "That was eventful."
"That's one word for it." Harry pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her waist. "Are you really okay?"
"I am." She leaned into him, her head resting on his shoulder. "Angry, definitely. But okay."
"Good." Harry pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "For what it's worth, you were magnificent during the fight. I've rarely seen veela fire used so effectively in combat."
"High praise from the tournament champion." Apolline pulled back to smile at him. "You weren't so bad yourself."
They stood there for a while longer, just holding each other.
"Stay with me tonight," Apolline said softly.
"I was planning on it." Harry's arms tightened around her. "But we should probably move to a different property. This one's a bit drafty now."
She laughed. "I have another house not far from here. Smaller, but intact. We can floo there."
"Sounds perfect."
They gathered what they needed, leaving the damaged property for the house elves to deal with in the morning. The floo journey was brief, depositing them in a cozy cottage.
"Much better," Apolline decided, looking around with satisfaction. "Now, where were we before the aurors arrived?"
"I believe you were trying to seduce family secrets out of me."
"Right." She moved toward him with predatory grace. "And I was doing such a good job too."
Harry caught her hands, pulling her close. "You were. But maybe we should get some actual sleep. It's been a long day."
"Sleep?" Apolline looked affronted. "Harry Peverell, I have you in my house, in my bed, with absolutely nothing demanding our attention until morning. We are not sleeping."
"Is that so?"
"That's so." She pushed him toward the bedroom, her intentions clear. "Sleep is for people who didn't just survive an assassination attempt. We're celebrating life. Repeatedly."
Harry laughed but didn't resist as she tugged him through the door. "You're insatiable."
"You're only just figuring that out?" Apolline's hands found his belt again, making quick work of the buckle. "I thought you were supposed to be clever."
"Clearly, I have more to learn about you."
"Then it's a good thing we have all night." She pushed his trousers and boxers down, her hand wrapping around his rapidly hardening cock. "All the time to learn everything about each other."
And as she sank to her knees before him, Harry decided that maybe sleep could wait after all.
TBC.
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