"Look familiar?" Harry asked the redheaded witch hovering over his files.

She stopped biting her nails for a moment to murmur in a hushed voice, "Yeah, looks just like-"

"The Dark Mark tattoo, I know," Harry cut in.

"Except with a bird perched on the skull, instead of a snake," she finished, more confused than grave.

"Exactly!"

"And this was on the arms of the victims?"

"All three," Harry said. "What d'you think, Tonks?"

Heart shape-faced and ginger maned, Tonks took a moment to look over the pictures. Harry had gone to her, a former member of the Order and one of the few around that spent the most time hunting Death Eaters, for a second opinion. "I think you've got a bloody psycho," she mused. "Bird looks like, a crow, I guess? And from the pictures, it looks like they were branded, almost. Can't tell with photos if it was before or after death."

The wizarding pictures depicted the bird occasionally flapping, or twisting its head about. The marked arms, of course, laid still.

"Could be a recruiting tool," she guessed. "This gets out in the news, and people start thinking that there's a new dark lord in town. I'm sure some of the Death Eaters would be up for a round three."

Harry nodded grimly. "Yeah, the French ministry wants to keep this under wraps, too. One of the murders happened on French soil."

"And one in London, Merlin have mercy. This is serious, innit?"

"Well, I'll do what I can. They've got me and France's finest on the case, apparently," Harry said with a roll of his eyes.

Tonks nodded with a large smirk, "Yeaaaah, I've heard about that too. Maybe you'll make some friends while you hunt some enemies?"

"I wouldn't count on it," Harry joked with a shake of his head. "But she is getting in soon, so I should go do some last-minute prep. Tell Charlie I said oi, will you?"

"Yeah, I'll tell him. Maybe I'll tell Ginny too," Tonks threatened with a gleam in her eyes.

Harry fake glared. "You wouldn't."

For a moment Tonks pretended to consider it. "No, I suppose not." She paused to let Harry feel relief before digging back in, "I'd hate to make your new partner jealous, you know how Veela can get."

"Dammit Tonks!" Harry half-whispered half-yelled, feeling a blush creep up his neck and into his cheeks. "I've got enough to worry about without you getting me all wound up!"

The redheaded witch cackled at his discomfort. Harry looked around a bit and asked her in a quieter tone, "And speaking of, have you seen Boot around? Scrim said that he wanted this case bad and that he might be a bit tetchy for a while."

"Nah," Tonks waved him off, "He's doing some follow up on some case he had last month in Slovakia or summat. He'll be out of the office a while. Now, go get ready, I don't think your secret agent Frenchie will want to be kept waiting. I hear she's a little uptight!"

As it turns out, "A little uptight" was a woefully inadequate descriptor for Fleur Delacour.

Harry had the files spread on his desk for just a few minutes before she stormed into his office and launched into a scathing criticism of "British civil architecture and floor planning." Harry attempted to greet her but did little to stop her tirade about confusing lobbies and awful elevators. A few waves of her wand had some select pictures levitated and slapped against a blackboard on his wall. Harry could do little but raise his eyebrows and sit back while he watched her flood into his space and commandeer his life.

In moments like this, and plenty to come, Harry could barely understand how this absurd cross between a tornado and a wildfire could still manage to be so utterly, devastatingly beautiful.

When she was seated, satisfied with her rant and the placement of the pictures, Harry had the boldness to ask, "Are you quite done?"

"Don't even get me started on the cubicle maze," she threatened with a huff.

"Wouldn't dream of it."

She huffed again and stood, moving to the board. "Let's discuss the victims, yes?" Harry nodded his assent, so she launched in. "Marietta Edgecombe, London, mid-July. Your age."

"I knew her, in school," Harry offered. "Not well, though."

"Killing curse. No evidence left behind, except for, of course, the brand," Fleur pressed on.

"Looks like the Dark Mark. Voldemort's calling card. All of his followers had those tattoos, in the same place, on the forearm."

"Yes, exactly why you are here," the French witch noted, with a hint of an edge. Apparently, she was still not thrilled with his presence, but didn't linger on it. "The next, a man, Tomaz 'orvat. Found in Slovenia, just a poor farmer."

"Clearly, no connection between the victims," Harry murmured, half to himself.

"Clearly not, other than a killing curse and bad tattoo. Finally, last week, Aurelian Malfoy, of Rennes, found by his house elf. It was a forced entry into the manor wards, so there was clearly some talent present."

"Talented, deadly, and well-traveled. Hopefully that helps narrow our search."

"I 'ad 'oped it would, as well. But there are no travelers, by portkey or apparition, who 'ave covered all three places in the time period."

Harry nodded. "But there is the Flint connection."

"Indeed, yes. Marcus Flint," she said, moving a picture of the man to the blackboard and expanding it. "When Malfoy was found dead in 'is home office, our search showed that Flint's name was on some paperwork, some finances, thing like that.'

"And he's connected to Edgecombe, too," Harry said, rifling through a file. "Four years ago, he was sentenced to three years in a lesser wizard's prison in Merseyside for assault on her- she was his girlfriend at the time. He got out early because of his connections."

"And the most interesting bit," Fleur cut in, "Was this." She produced a scroll. "A three hundred galleon payment to Mariette, from Aurelian, a week before her death."

"And Flint is the only- or at least the strongest- connection between them," Harry finished. They both stood in silence for a moment.

"So, we think he killed her, killed Malfoy, and took a sightseeing bus trip to Eastern Europe to kill a peasant in between?" Fleur asked, one eyebrow raised.

"Well, no, for a number of reasons," Harry started. "First, he has an alibi for Edgecombe's murder- he was the first one the hit wizards dragged in. Second, he isn't the type to be copying Voldemort or something fancy like that, he's more of a street thug. And third, he's a goddamn idiot. He could never figure out how to cast an enchanted brand on his victims."

Fleur nodded, lips pursed. "Well, 'opefully Mr. Flint has some answers he wants to give us."

"We end up dragging Flint in a lot," Harry explained on the way to the interrogation room. "I know how to handle him. Follow my lead."

For her part, Fleur seemed disinterested in Harry's expertise. "I am thinking, I will be the good cop and you will be the bad cop for this, yes?" she offered.

"Well," Harry hedged, "I'm usually the, erm, good cop with these things. I'm rather rubbish at the bad cop bit- that's more Ron's thing. Maybe we approach this differently?"

To his frustration, Fleur just waved him off with a "Just make it up as you go. Just do what Ron does." Wasn't this supposed to be an equal partnership? His irritation was temporary, however, when she grabbed his arm and turned her big eyes on him and mewled, "Besides, I make a fantastic good cop."

Harry hoped that saying 'no' to Fleur would get easier over time.

It would not.

Marcus Flint was shaggy-haired and poorly shaven, stooped over with his wrists manacled to the steel table he sat at. From the moment they stepped in the room, all Flint bothered paying attention to was Fleur. "Well well, what is this? I thought I had met the whole the Auror circus already, but I've never met you," he said, face full of smirk, his eyes taking a slow expedition down her modest robe.

"Ah," Fleur giggled, "I suppose then, that I am new, to you." Harry was initially thrown by her alarming shift in tone- this was closer to a school girl than the hardened investigator he had been dealing with for a day now- but something on the edges of his mind, a warm whisper, made him realize that her allure was firing up. He realized what made her such an effective interrogator just as he noticed that the room suddenly smelled like lavender and vanilla, and seemed much cozier than your average interrogation chamber.

Fleur slid into a seat and placed a file on the table, while Harry elected to stay standing. "Mr. Flint, as I am sure you can guess, we are not 'ere to discuss the enchanted mailbox found in the possession of a muggle in Cokeworth."

"Good, cause I've got nothin to do with 'at." He sat back and paused for a moment. "And if I did, you can bet it would've nipped off more than just a few fingers."

Harry could feel his eyes rolling out of their sockets. Fleur just maintained her pleasant smile and seemed to focus harder. Harry could see Flint leaning forward in his seat at the compelling aura. "I want to discuss something else with you, Monsieur Flint. I want to talk to you about Marietta Edgecombe."

"That was a load of bullshit, she got pissed at me and started makin stuff up."

Harry took this moment to jump in. "You hexed her, Flint, you hexed your girlfriend over a disagreement about going to a baby shower. She was in Mungo's for a week."

"She lied," Flint insisted, teeth bared. "And besides, that was years ago, and I did my time for it, so I don't see why you're dragging me down here and jumping up my ass about it."

"I am concerned, simply, because of Miss Edgecombe's murder a few weeks ago," Fleur said, bringing Flint's attention entirely back to her.

"Real shame, that. Couldn't have happened to a nicer girl." Flint looked unnervingly satisfied about it. "Good news about all of that business was that I had an alibi for that night. I was with my mates at a pub just after the Tutshill game. We're season ticket holders, you should join us for a game some time."

Fleur gave a full-bodied smile that, Harry could tell, fell well short of her eyes. "That sounds delightful, Mr. Flint. But for now, I want to talk to you about Aurelian Malfoy. 'E has also turned up dead. And you knew 'im as well, no?"

"Friend of a friend," Flint brushed off.

"Bullshit," Harry cut in, slamming his hand to the table. "You've been working for him for months now."

Flint forced an eye roll. "Just a few things here and there, I barely knew the guy."

"You're full of shit, Flint. He was hiring you for something, and something big. We saw your name all over documents from his office."

"Well you think I killed him, then?"

"No, I don't think you're smart enough to have killed him," Harry challenged, "But I think you're going to tell us why he sent three hundred galleons to Marietta Edgecombe last month, and then we'll figure the rest out from there." Harry felt himself shouting at this point. He could feel himself sweating, and was close enough to see the sweat on the brow of the prisoner before him.

But Flint just snorted at his question. "Come off it, Potter," he said, leaning in to get their faces even closer. "I've known you twelve years, you think I'm just going to get scared of you now?" The intensity of the stare down had both men breathing heavily.

"You were in school togezzer?" Fleur chirped from the side to break the intensity. She laid a hand on Flint's arm and asked with a childlike innocence, "Were you two friends?"

Flint, back to being focused on the allure, barked out a laugh. "Ha, hardly," he said, settling back into his seat. "Potter was a Gryffindor, house full lot of nonces, while I was in a real house— Slytherin."

Fleur seemed to consider that. "'Ad I attended 'Ogwarts, I think I would 'ave been a Slytherin as well." She was laying on the accent thicker, and Flint seemed entirely lost in her voice. Harry sat back and let her work her magic for a bit, detecting just the faintest hint of mischief in her eyes.

"I'd have liked school a lot more with someone fit like you around," Flint clumsily flirted before continuing, "Slytherin would be perfect too, we're elegant and deadly, like cobras." From the sound of it, he was trying to impress her.

She just sighed and took a far-off look. "Ah, snakes. Can I tell you a story, Monsieur Flint?" He nodded eagerly and kicked in a smirk for good measure. "Two years ago I was in the dessert. La Arabia, oui? Hotter than hot, in a lot of good ways." Harry noticed her left hand slithering up Flint's sleeve- it was doubtlessly all Flint could focus on. "I took a side trip from my mission to help a young mother take her enfant to a village healer. We placed the child down and spoke in a nearby room while the healer prepared a salve." Harry felt himself grow hot, finding it harder to focus on her words. He couldn't imagine how Flint felt, under the full ecstatic pressure of The Allure.

Fleur pressed on, "Suddenly, a serpent appeared. It snuck towards the child and reared itself to strike. We had no time to react, so I grabbed the closest wand- the healers- and shot the first curse that could come to me. On instinct, I took the head off the snake from across the room. I wonder if I could do it again?"

In an instant, the heat of the room was gone. Fleur's left hand was still on Flint's bicep, but her right had a wand pressed to his throat. Harry and Flint seemed to gulp dramatically at the same time at the sight of Fleur's smile, suddenly predatory and cruel. Harry felt a flash of pity, and Flint saw his life in a flash.

Perhaps she wasn't kidding about being a Slytherin at heart, Harry mused, before grabbing a quill and jumping into note taking. Flint had already cracked like an egg.

"What ees this, Champion, even?" Fleur asked when they had returned to Harry's office.

Harry sighed. "Dueling champions. Basically, rich purebloods pay people to fight each other. Ever since the war ended, people have been itching to throw curses around, and this is the new legal way to do it."

"So that was what Flint was going to be, then. Aurelian Malfoy's champion."

"Looks like it. Until Edgecombe blackmailed him, threatened to go public with the whole bit about having Flint's son out of wedlock."

"Yes, your newspapers would have been quite keen on that. And it would make Malfoy look bad to have a champion with a bastard son," Fleur concluded.

"Exactly. But it's not like Malfoy killed her and then himself. And Flint is cleared on both murders, not that he could have handled it anyway. But Flint did tell us about that other guy-"

"Bulstrode, yes. Uhm- Wallace. Wallace Bulstrode. 'is son was supposed to be the Malfoy champion, but the Flint deal meant that Aurelian cancelled on Wallace."

"Daughter."

"Daughter?"

"Yes, Millicent Bulstrode. She's a girl."

Fleur looked at the picture again. "Non- wait- mon dieu," she said with a grimace. "A typical eengleesh beauty, non?" Harry just narrowed his eyes.

"We should probably talk to Wallace," he said, shuffling papers. "Tomorrow we can head to their estate- he's retired, from what I remember, and lives near Leeds."

"Perfect. See! I make a fine good cop, and you did your job as well," Fleur said. She smiled with satisfaction and turned to leave.

"Actually, Fleur, I wanted to discuss that with you," Harry sputtered out. He was half worried he'd lose the nerve, but stood up straight and looked her in the eye. "That interrogation didn't go how I thought it would."

Fleur light up and gushed, "Oui! I 'ave spent my life honing my allure. Many veela cannot control it like I can. It comes in 'andy for these sorts of matters, yes?"

"Yes…" Harry began, trying to find his way towards the more serious point. "But, we really should be more careful about things. I know you got answers out of Flint, but we can't go around threatening everyone if we're going to do our jobs right."

Fleur cocked her head to the side in confusion. "I did not hurt the man, everything is fine. What it the problem?"

Harry sighed and came around his desk. "No, we didn't hurt him exactly, but we can't just go demanding answers at wand-point. That makes us no better than the people we're fighting." And, he thought silently, it makes us very vulnerable to disciplinary action. Harry could picture the Skeeter headline now- "Harry Potter and the Investigation from Internal Affairs!"

Fleur, for her part, looked put out. "I am used to doing whatever it takes to get the job done, 'Arry." Harry braced himself for an argument that never came, as Fleur thought for a moment before softening. "But if you eensist on this, then we will do it your way. I know you are only doing this because of your belief to justice."

"Yeah, well," Harry said, scratching the back of his neck and looking down. "Everyone deserves their fair shot. Even people like Flint."

Fleur nodded, and said, "You hold to your convictions well, 'Arry Potter, and this I respect." She thought a moment further before adding, "I know that it must not be easy to challenge me like this, and I respect you doing that as well." She reached out and patted his arm before turning. "Tomorrow, then?"

Harry nodded and confirmed, "Tomorrow."

After she left, he could still feel the heat from her hand on his arm, and even late into the night he still caught the occasional whiff of her perfume. He found himself occasionally thinking about the way she would say certain words, and the fire in her eyes while she pressed the tip of her wand into Flint's windpipe, and how that was scary but also decidedly sexy-

And that was about when Harry Potter started to worry about lingering effects of a veela's Allure.