Fleur loathed humans beings; they dare sneak in the Veela colony of the south, claiming to have been lost at sea, stranded until the next ship passed by. The Veela chiefs had been suspicious, at first, but they all relied on the power their blood had.

Stupidity, Fleur had argued: wizards got more cunning by the day, while their culture, stuck on that damned island, rotted away. The Veela chiefs rolled their eyes at this, dismissed her fears, and let the men inside the colony. At night, their ship - who hadn't been lost at all; that had been an obvious ruse - appeared and took in the Veelas by storm, while they slept: a coward's move.

Fleur had been one of the unlucky ones, now being kept blindfolded, chained, and gagged: even pirates knew the dangers of a furious Veela. Her wand had been left behind, but only if she could have a free hand… They didn't even allow her that, always stuck to the wall with the others, chained tightly.

Well, not always. They gave Fleur a few minutes a day of freedom, just like everyone else, one at a time: the boy with green eyes immune to Veela magic. Fleur called him a boy, but he couldn't be more than seventeen, and that was her best possible guess: he was thin, small. Frail.

Every day, he would come, give every girl a sip of water through the gag, clean them up, and allow every girl a few minutes of vision, to stretch their limbs in a side room.

Every one of Fleur's village tried to seduce the boy, to bid him into doing what they wanted. Every single one of them failed. When it had been her turn, at first, she had said nothing, eating as fast as possible to stretch herself for more time, trying to get blood flowing in her limbs again.

Then, one day, she'd spoken, softly, to the boy, looked into his eyes. Curiosity had gotten the best of her.

"You are not affected by Veela magic. Why?" Fleur asked, crossing her arms, and the boy shrugged. He offered her some food, and Fleur took it with some suspicion. It was always the same food, but still.

"Don't know." The boy replied in terrible French, grabbing some of the bread, eating little bits of it. By the way the bread was, half-eaten, he did this little show with everyone so they would eat and not think the food was poisoned. "Just am."

Fleur ate slowly. Hardtack bread was awful, she learned very quickly.

"Not one for words, are you?" She asked, and the boy shrugged. He set aside his food - surely for his next little trick -, looked at her. Amidst his black hair that smelled like sea salt, in the tanned skin, he had a lightning bolt scar that smelled like forbidden magic. Curious. "Interesting scar you got there."

He touched his forehead, a blush spreading through his cheeks, and Fleur giggled.

"Hit my head as a baby." The bot muttered, and Fleur went back to eating. These pirates didn't give them much food - to keep them weak and pliable, perhaps. "Do you know where you're going to?"

"No idea. I'll kill them on arrival, though." The boy bit his lower lip, and Fleur looked at him through half-lidded eyes. "Speak. You know something."

"It's not my place…" The boy started, and Fleur, almost absentmindedly, turned one of her hands into claws. He gulped. "They plan on selling you guys to, uh, what's the word… Wandmakers?"

Fleur had heard that Veela hair was precious, outside their little colony - her wand's core was a single hair from her grandmother, freely given, after all -, but she did not imagine it was to the point of risking international creature relationships to have it.

"To have always a fresh supply of hair, I imagine." Fleur scoffed, and the boy, once more, hesitated. "No?"

"Hair. Nails. Feathers. Skin. Eyes." The boy muttered, and it horrified Fleur. "Er, apparently research shows that you guys are, well, made of magic. Pure magic. So, uh, they're thinking of turning a profit by selling you guys whole, instead of, you know, in pieces."

Fleur eyed the boy. He seemed a bit green at the thought, and he was giving her information that at least smelled genuine.

"How long until we reach the shore?" She asked, the wheels inside her mind already spinning. The boy made some very visible calculations in his mind before speaking up.

"Two weeks, give or take?" He replied. Fleur nodded.

"Very well. Say, do you have a wand?" The boy shook his head, and Fleur smiled gently. "Would you like one?"

The boy waited until most of the crew was asleep - in a ship that size, not everyone slept at the same time - before he sneaked into the space the Veelas were being kept, and then undid the bounds on Fleur. Fleur rose to her feet, stretched her wings, and looked at the boy.

"Undo half, I'll undo half, and then hide. You hear me?" She asked, and the boy nodded. "The rest of you, stay still, or I will kill you for ruining the chance of an escape. Hear me?"

The two of them worked quickly, undoing the bounds on Fleur's compatriots, and then the boy stepped back. They all seemed to hold back, having listened to the dangerous edge of Fleur's words.

When they were all free, stretching, the boy looked at Fleur.

"Go. It won't be pretty." Fleur told him, softly. She could feel the wings on her back stretching, growing away from the usual spell she used to hide them from view. The boy seemed gobsmacked at it, and she supposed he should: even to someone who wasn't affected by a Veela's allure, the effect of seeing one of them in what frankly was skimpy clothing and moonlight was mesmerizing.

The boy picked up his jaw from the floor and nodded, running away, and Fleur rolled her shoulders. Time to get a nice bloodbath going.

"Aren't you coming back, Fleur?" Asked Beau, one of the other stolen girls. Fleur, licking the blood off her fingers, waved her concerns away, and the girl, with a shrug, jumped out of the ship, soon taking flight, going back home.

Fleur had a debt to pay. She went around the abandoned husk of a ship, her feet sticking to the blood-covered floor, trying to find the boy's smell through the thick scent of blood.

She found him pretty fast: he'd hidden amongst the reserves of hardtack, keeping quiet. Fleur looked at him, and the boy looked at her.

"I'm here to pay my debt." She said, and plucked three strings of hair to him. "Here. Three strings of hair."

"That's too much." The boy said, taking a single one from her hands. Humble. "I was wondering. Do you need a companion, or something? I kind of lost my job, here."

Fleur blinked at him, paused for a moment.

"Not offering yourself to be a protector of this poor, weak dame?" She paused, then cocked her head. "No family to come back to?"

"I'm immune to Veela allure, not to screams, and I'm an orphan." He pointed out, and Fleur had to give it to him. "I know my way around Paris, if you don't want to go back home."

Paris - she'd heard of it in the stories of the time before they all sequestered themselves in the south. Colorful, smelly, magical Paris. Her eyes must've shone, because the boy giggled.

"I'll work hard for the other two strands of hair, I promise you." He said, offering her a hand to shake. "I'm Harry."

"Fleur." She shook his hand. "Now, I assume you know the direction of Paris. I'll take us there."

"I do." Harry replied, and Fleur could see herself with this boy. Yes, that would be a fun catch to take home, in a few years. "Shall we go? The captain had an emergency portkey on his cabin, I know where it is."

The boy - Harry, she corrected herself - was smart. Fantastic.

"Of course. I hope there's a good place to eat. I tire of hardtack."

Harry chuckled.

"Honestly? Me too."