Harry Potter 1. prologue

Prologue

Hi all, N made me delete my previous story because it just about gave him a stroke when he read the first chapter. With his help, I am going to attempt something different and kinda out there. Please enjoy, -K

**revised on 11/09/2012**

* * *

She knew that they were located on the east coast of the states, anything else was only speculation. All that was known was that it was the Agency, and if you had the resources, they could do what you needed. She was scheduled for five in the evening, the last of the day. They didn't say who else was scheduled for that day, but she, like the countless others, had one thing in common. Money. It was what made the world go round, and kept her family in power for so long. But now, power didn't hold as much sway as it did before. Threats had been made against her family, and she was going to do something about it.

If her husband still lived, he would have made sure any threat to their family was lying at her feet in a pool of their own blood. But, he was gone, and those duties fell to her. She wasn't against bloodshed, in fact, she had perfected it to a science, but with what was coming this term, she wouldn't be able to protect her child.

They had shepherded her into a room, plain in her opinion. Smooth polished metal walls, with a simple desk and two chairs. The only enchantments she could see were the windows, reflecting the downpour outside. As she took a seat, the door behind her slammed shut, and a tea service appeared at the desk. She was unsure what would happen from here, but was into her second cup when she heard them.

"Why have you come?" The voice was metallic, hollow, much like the room.

"I understand that you can provide me with someone."

"We are not an escort service."

She withheld the snort in her throat. She had only spoken to one other who had used their services, and they said that they only provide for those who can afford them, and actually need them. "I need your assistance; my child needs to be watched."

"Many others could provide what you seek. The government for one, even private security is resourceful enough to meet your needs."

"But you can provide the best." The room was silent then, but she didn't dismiss the opening appearing in the desk. It was obvious enough what they wanted. The voice was speaking again before the galleons had fully fallen from view.

"What do you seek?"

"The best."

"More specific please."

"What do you have available?" With a flash of light, over fifty plain folders appeared on the desk in front of her.

"These are the current models available, please specify."

"I want something that is just as powerful defensively as it is offensively."

It surprised her when only nine stayed on the desk while the rest faded from view. "In answer to your question, rarely do we produce something that is effective on both sides of the fight. These models are the only ones which have produced the results you require. Please specify."

"I need something that will not wavier. It will not become defective, or require," she was unsure home to phrase what she wanted to say. "Any future maintenance on your part." Again, the pile shrunk to just two.

"Your choices now are model seven and model thirteen. Do you require any assistance to further narrow down what you require?"

"Who is the best?"

"Both would be quite effective at accomplishing what you requested, however they are very different from each other. Model seven is efficient and requires little maintenance for upkeep. It is adaptive to most environments, and has never failed in its training or field testing. It should be noted though that seven is the newest model, and twice your consultation fee will be required for its purchase. It should also be noted that the information regarding the previous models which seven was modeled after were destroyed."

"Model thirteen is a slightly older model, but its testing can be ranked as comparable to seven. It does however require a more forceful hand to keep it under control, and does require bi-monthly maintenance to discourage defective behavior. It should be noted that thirteen was designed from two previous models that were extremely effective in field use. Have you made your decision?"

The decision was intriguing. Go with something tried and true, but end up wasting more money on something she might regret ever purchasing, or the newest, what the agency claims as the best they have produced in the batch?

* * *

"Step through the door, it will be waiting for you there." She didn't regret the money at all. Many people would be furious at the idea of spending one hundred and fifty thousand galleons, not counting the consultation fee. Most homes didn't even cost that much. But her family meant the world to her.

She wasn't expecting what was waiting for her. He was male, with pale skin that revealed a life spent indoors. He was dressed immaculately in a black suit and tie. She could only guess at his age, but he was _maybe_ sixteen,_ if that_. His age was even harder to guess due to the lack of hair on his head and face. As she approached, when she saw his eyes, they were dead. This wasn't a child, no matter how much her inner mother wished it to be. This was what she came here for, a weapon, an attack dog that would kill if she gave it the order to.

"Ma'am," it was obvious that he knew what she was here for. He held his right arm out in front of her, in his other hand was a razor blade. She knew what was expected of her. Before leaving the 'consultation room', the voice had informed her what would be needed to bind the subject to her will. With a steady hand, she took the blade and sliced his palm open before her own, placing them together.

"You belong to me now," she pressed the wound to his face, and watched the pale skin turn red, those eyes still holding her gaze. He only nodded and bowed once before her. As she raised her wand to the wound on her hand, she watched as he held his at his side, letting the blood drip to the flawless floor.

Without missing a beast, she walked away to the exit, a single light floating in front of her. She didn't need to turn around to know he was following her. The Agency would have ingrained the desire to obey into him so deep; it would never cross his mind to not do what she would command of him. As they entered the lobby, she motioned for him to take her hand. Suddenly, she remembered something she had heard before coming here; that the Agency took the castoffs of society, and rebuilt them into something that was sought-after and rarely purchased.

"Seven," again, those eyes were on her, and while they held no malice, she did not doubt that he could and would kill for her. She was happy with her purchase. "What is your name?" He cocked his head to the side, and a part of her found the action to be endearing.

"A long time ago, someone told me that it was Harry," as she disappeared in a flash of color with the boy at her side, she was unable to miss the jagged scar along the side of his forehead.

* * *

So, did you love it, hate it? Felt indifferent? This was more a prologue and me just testing the waters. Hope you all enjoyed

-K

Unofficially betaed by N


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Well, it appears at least a few people are interested in this. So, I'll keep this coming as long as people are interested. This chapter is going to have bits of 'growing up' that Harry went through. I also want to point out that when he is thinking, Harry, as well as myself, will be referring to him/self as 'Seven'. **Revised.**

Enjoy, -K.

* * *

Since he could remember, all he had ever known was polished metal walls, and pain. In his dreams, he remembered the stink of rotting food, and feeling freezing rain against his skin. Then, it stopped, and soft words and warmth replaced it. He only knew what the woman who found him told him. He was named 'Harry', and that he was property of the Agency. He would always remember her face, the pale skin and dark curls with piercing violet eyes. In his mind, after all the suffering he could remember, and then this creature brought him into the warmth and gave him life. She could only be one thing, she was a Goddess. His Goddess.

She explained to him that the Agency was designed for one purpose, to do what the highest bidder asked. He remembered sitting before her, as she told him their history. How it was formed by what remained of the muggle-born Templar Knights at the end of the final Inquisition. They collected the orphans of those that had died and trained them to be the weapons of the survivors. She fed him and clothed him, made sure that he slept and ate and was generally well-cared for. She taught him to walk and speak, and how to obey. When she told him to come, he did so without question, when she said eat, he ate, sleep and he slept, it was strange, but he knew one thing. She was the one who saved him, so he would do whatever she told him.

When the time came for her to leave, it was… he wasn't sure. She never showed him emotion, and constantly told him that she wasn't his mother, but he still felt strange when she left and the men in white replaced her. "Do what they say." That was the last thing she said before looking at him and walking away. He remembered something in her eyes when they ushered her out of the room, he didn't know it at the time, but he did now, regret.

They took him to the room with metal walls that he would learn to call his home, and soon another joined him, this one wearing black, then they started. First, they stripped him down to his skin, and drew their wands, blasting him with ice cold water. As quickly as they started, they stopped, leaving him drenched. Next, the two in white grabbed his arms while the third pulled a razor from his pocket. The man moved quickly, and soon, his hair was lying on the wet floor while his scalp burned.

Without any kind of warning he was released and the two wearing white started to beat him. He wasn't sure how long it went on, but for every sound, every twitch, any sign that he felt something, it resulted in more pain. They had started with their fists and feet. Each kick and punch seemed to just cause more noise to escape him, no matter what he tried, his screams, or what were now hoarse whimpers, just brought him more pain, and eventually unconsciousness.

When he woke up, whether it was hours or days later, he didn't know, his body had been healed and they had returned, and continued with the pain. This time though, they used their magic along with their fists. He felt them tearing his skin open, burning his body, crushing his bones into dust, every sensation, he could remember clearly. It continued like that every time he was awake, until he just stopped caring; each spell they used, all the knives that grazed his skin, and all the salt they could pour into his festering wounds couldn't even make him blink. He just held himself limp and let them do what they wanted.

Sooner than before, they stopped, and those that caused him pain took it away. The one who came with them, who always watched but never participated, then spoke. "Seven," he just lay still, not acknowledging the sound. The pain returned, but stopped suddenly and the voice spoke again, "Seven." This time, he did turn to the man in black. He was old and appeared to be near the end of his life, but he still seemed to be the most dangerous one in the room. "That is who you are now, Seven. It took seven days to break you, and hopefully, we will need to do this _only_ once." He turned to the others and motioned for them to leave. He waved his hand, and 'Seven' could feel softness form underneath him. Looking at the floor, he saw a clean, but heavily stained mat beneath him. "These are the only gifts I give you, for the time being." Again with a motion of his hand, a bowl filled with some grey matter and a dented metal cup with water appeared beside him. "Rest and eat, tomorrow, we start your training."

Lifting the bowl, he started to scrape it into his mouth, he didn't care that he had to use his fingers. The food was thick and flavorless, but soft and easy to swallow, no chewing required. He could feel five teeth that were loose, and was sure that the bones in his face were broken. He was grateful. "-Oo are U?" He wiped his hand across his face and it was wet with blood. The man turned to face him, and his voice seemed to make the room grow colder than it was.

"I am your master."

* * *

Seven pulled himself from his thoughts as he and his mistress appeared at their destination. He had never been outside the walls of the Agency before, but their lessons had his ingrained knowledge working overtime. The building was on some sort of cliff-like edge with three sides ending abruptly. He was sure that if his mistress gave him leave, he would discover those sides revealing a lethal drop. That was good; it would force attackers to only come at them from one spot. It was dark, so he assumed it was either night or early morning, and the building seemed to glow with light. The lights were a problem though; anyone firing from the outside would see the silhouette of their target.

She had started to walk and he fell in step behind her, maintaining the respective five step distance. He was unsure what to make of his owner. He knew that she had wealth, it was the only way she could have purchased him, but she carried herself with an air of power that his first master carried whenever he spoke. She appeared to be as old as the Goddess was when she left him for the Agency, along with the same skin tone and gait. Her hair though, was straight and light compared to the Goddess's dark curls. True, she was different from the one that saved his life, of that he had no doubt; but he wouldn't question his mistress, this was his destiny, and he would obey.

"Harry," she had stopped at the entrance, waiting. He understood, and moved to her side, opening the door. He followed her in, and closed the door shut, at her unspoken request. He could see the room spoke of money. While the Agency never taught him of the importance of material value, he could understand why his mistress would own such things. The polished stone had been shaped into pleasing objects, he supposed, and the colors covering the walls did seem appealing compared to the plainness of where he had spent his life, but it meant nothing to him. If it was what his mistress desired, then who was he to question it.

She led him to an area where a fire filled the room with warmth and light. She gestured for him to take one of the two chairs in the room, and only after waiting until she took the place closer to the warmth did he join her. "I must confess, I was surprised to see what or should I say who, I had purchased. I am curious," she leaned forward, and he could see that her eyes were much lighter than the Goddess's ever were. "Just how old are you?"

"Mistress, I am not sure," she turned her head to the side, and he understood the silent command to continue. "I can tell you though that I spent ten years being prepared for purchase." She lifted what looked like an exquisitely trimmed eye brow, but turned away to the fire.

"I will not lie; I was expecting someone much older. How do I know that you will be effective for my needs?"

"Mistress, I can assure you that my keepers were more than efficient with my training."

* * *

Like the master had said, his training began the next time he awoke with his injuries healed; Seven knew someone once said that knowledge is power, but that person didn't realize what knowledge truly was. Seven was raised with the belief of learning through experience. Every day it was the same, fight until either your opponent fell, or you did. He eventually started to tell time by when the men in white, or Keepers as they were called, came for him to train. True, they did beat him to within an inch of his life every time he was awake, but eventually they started to teach him tactics to use during those 'lessons'. His keepers showed him where on a person a simple punch or kick could cause the limb to be useless for hours or even for life, it would be his decision.

Next came the use of blades. He learned quickly that he favored something small that could be easily hidden or used and concealed again. Eventually they deemed him worthy enough to have his own. It was waiting for him when he returned to his room after one grueling session. It was a stiletto, he knew that almost instantly; nine inches of fixed, narrow steel, with a handle made of some sort of leather. It was the only thing beside his pad, worn bowl and cup he had, and became a treasure.

"Did you bring anything with you?" The question shook him from his revelry, and Seven lifted his eyes to his mistress who appeared to be studying him. With a nod, he reached into his suit jacket and pulled a small black object the size of a matchbox out, setting on the floor.

"By your leave mistress, may I draw my wand and use it to enlarge my things?" When he received the nod, he removed the jacket, and didn't miss her eyes widening slightly. He rolled back the white sleeve over his left arm, and drew his blade from the holster on his shoulder. "Mistress, do I have your permission to carry my wand in a holster and to use it in the future for anything I see fit?"

"Yes, but why?"

He rested the point on his skin, just below his wrist. "It will be less time consuming to draw in the future." He cut a thin line across his arm, and satisfied, holstered the weapon before worrying the wound with his fingers.

She was transfixed as the boy slashed his wrist, and started to bury his fingers in the wound. She was about to yell when he pulled a narrow rod from the opening. Slowly, she could see that he was freeing his wand from the wound, and after removing it, waved it over the opening, causing a scar to appear before vanishing the blood on his arm. She let out a pleased sigh when he also vanished the blood from her white carpet. "May I see it?"

Wordlessly, Seven passed it over to her, and she examined it. The wand was perfectly straight, almost unnaturally so, and the longer she held it, the colder the room appeared to feel. Slowly, she felt herself becoming disheartened and passed it back to the boy, surprised as the low feelings faded. "Harry," again, those cold eyes fell on her. "What is your wand made of?"

* * *

Eventually they decided that he would need a wand to continue the lessons. The keepers moved him to a different room than the others. It was pitch black and they did not enter, but simply closed the door after he was shoved in. Seven knew from the rattling breath that he wasn't alone. It was bigger than him, and that was the only thing that concerned him; a taller opponent meant a longer reach. It seemed to have no desire to come towards him, but the room seemed to get darker and colder. Then he felt the pain from his lessons. He looked around him, trying to find his attackers, and realized that there was no one else in the room, just him and the creature. Realizing he had no choice, Seven did the only thing he could think of; he stood tall and let the pain wash over him. There appeared to be no break in the pain, it just kept coming and building with each second. After what seemed to be an eternity it stopped. The figure just stayed where it was, and the rattling breaths seemed to become harsher, desperate.

The door opened and the light blinded him, but he saw a keeper standing in the opening. The man seemed paler than usual, but threw something into the room before sealing it again. The object was his knife, he recognized it clearly enough, though it was strange to see it without blood from his lessons staining the edge. What they wanted Seven to do was clear enough; he had practiced on enough human replicas.

Grasping the handle, he moved towards the thing, and saw for the first time, the chain on its neck holding it against the wall. He struck hard and fast just as the instructed. The door was opening before its body came to rest against the floor. It was the first real life he had taken, and he expected to feel something, but Seven could only feel warmth that didn't exist in the room before appear. Gazing at the thing, he heard it draw one last breath and released what sounded like a sigh of relief. As they herded him back to his room, he saw one of the keepers attacking the thing's body with knives and a saw, intent on extracting something. He didn't care; he was tired and knew that his mat and formless food would be waiting for him.

Three days later, the master came for him, and he was carrying a wand. It was flawless white and when he held it, the same feeling the creature carried seemed to wash over him momentarily. "Thirteen inches, designed for curses, both offensive and defensive. It was made by the animal whose life you took and its core is from a creature few are willing to admit they can see." Seven looked into his master's eyes, and saw the calculating look, "Time will prove if you are worthy of their gifts."

Immediately after receiving his wand, the keepers instructed him in how to cast the spells that caused him the pain he constantly endured. What spells could be used to distract, incapacitate, and even kill. They insisted that he be able to even focus them on a small area, to be able to attack his opponent in a specific place on their body. He was told that he had to be able to take an enemy out of the fight as soon as possible, and a crippling shot was perfect before the final blow.

* * *

"I was instructed that it was made from the bone of a slain dementor and the core is thestral hair." He heard her make a sound in the back of her throat that he could only classify as a sophisticated gasp, but continued. "The keepers told me that anyone who showed an aptitude for magic was to be given the same type of wand, if they could withstand the tests necessary to earn it." She watched as he tapped the black box and it grew to the size of a briefcase. As he popped the locks and turned it towards her, she realized that what he had wasn't much.

Inside, she found a cracked wooden bowl, stained by some unknown food or liquid, a heavily dented metal cup, and a parchment envelope with the words 'Mistress' neatly written across the center. "Don't you have any other clothes besides that?" Seven realized at some point she had crossed her legs, and was gesturing with a foot towards his suit.

"No ma'am, I had nothing to wear until the master told me I had been purchased. At that time, he gave me these," he stood and removed the envelope from the case, passing it to her. "I was told that this was written by the person who raised me, meant to give you a better idea of who I am and what I am capable of. It is meant only for you, and means nothing to me."

"I understand," she rose, and again, Seven fell into step behind her. Her mind was spinning, clothing would be easy to come by. She had the enough money that she could afford him several suits like the one he wore, but for what he would be doing, something more casual would be necessary. But what bothered her was his wand. No known wands were made completely from the parts of magical animals. And a dementor no less! She didn't even know if the foul things could die, but apparently, if the boy was to be believed, they could.

Eventually she led him into the kitchen, and he again waited until she was seated before joining her. Even though she was old enough to be his mother, she couldn't help but enjoy the attention he held himself at. It was something vaguely attractive, if she found him to be. While his appearance was intimidating, she knew that her daughters would be taken with him, her youngest at the very least. He gave off an air of power, something that would be dangerous if approached without caution; if her daughters were anything like she was at their age, they would instantly flock to the boy. "Have you eaten?" When he shook his head, she summoned an elf, and with a whispered conversation, a large meal appeared. She slowly filled her plate, but frowned as he took what could be considered the blandest choices before filling the glass beside him with water. Again, the mother in her felt concern for the boy across from her. "Harry, is there something else you would like?"

"No ma'am, this is more than generous, but my keepers instructed me to be careful when I left. They said that due to my diet, new food could be more harmful than good." His eyes widened slightly, as if he remembered something important to say. "I apologize if I offended you, but I will slowly try new things." She watched as he said this, and reached for an apple with undisguised fascination before taking a bite. Smiling, she continued to watch him as he cleared his plate, and then he turned his attention to her, clearly waiting for her to finish what she had forgotten.

"Will I be assigned to you mistress?" Again, she caught the way he gave her different titles; ma'am for responses, and mistress for questions, strange.

"I desired someone who could protect my family, but more specifically my daughters. You need not worry too much about my youngest as she is still living at home, but I will need you to travel with my eldest when she returns to school for her final year. After that," she wasn't really sure. Her oldest would leave home soon, with her education finished. Shrugging, she planned on sending him with her. "We'll cross that bridge when we get there."

He nodded, no concern for her vague answer in his eyes. "Will it be difficult for me to travel with her ma'am?"

"No, I have taken the liberty of contacting the school and advising them of what I was planning to do. They know that someone will be attending for the protection of my daughter. Who that is and what they are trained to do, they will not know."

"Understood. Mistress, how would you like me to defend her?" That was a question she had been wondering since she had entered the Agency. How far did she want him to go? A part of her said to only interfere when necessary, but she knew the bigotry that goes on at that school. This year would be especially testing.

"If someone attempts to harm my daughter in any way, be it physical, emotional, or psychological, I expect you to retaliate in kind. If her name is slandered or used in hate, make sure that person knows the error of their ways. As far as I'm concerned, you can't do enough to whomever you direct your rage. My daughters mean everything to me Harry. That is why you were purchased." He understood and digested this information. She had essentially given him a carte blanche, and he would be a fool to not use it wisely. "Harry," a thought had been bothering her since before she had arrived at the Agency. She dismissed it as only rumors, but now that she was talking with what they produced, she had to know for sure. "What would have happened if I hadn't purchased you?"

"I would have had until I trained for twenty years with the Agency to be purchased, after that I would have been sterilized and given five more years. After that, I would have been euthanized since I must have been unworthy for no one to purchase me."

She didn't let the emotion show on her face. She heard the stories of what happened to the subjects that the Agency deemed 'defective', but to hear it from what her maternal instincts considered a child was still hard to believe. "Would you like to see my children?" With a nod of his head, Seven watched as she rose and filed behind her. He followed her up the stairs which he recognized from when they entered her home, and she stopped at a random door just past the top. Slowly, she opened the door, and gestured for him to come forward. He could see a small figure was asleep on a bed that appeared much grander than his mat back at the Agency, and was most definitely quite softer. Under a mountain of blankets and comforters, Seven could just see a bit of hair the same color as his mistress's. Placing a hand on his shoulder, she pulled him back and shut the door without a sound. "My youngest."

She led him to another room, and opened the door without hesitation. He was immediately assaulted with strong scents that he couldn't identify, and yet they were not unpleasant; in some ways they reminded him of the Goddess who raised him, and eventually returned to complete his training. He noticed a large closet that held what appeared to be dozens of fragile looking clothing and shoes. Off to one side of the room, he could see a small table and chair before a mirror. Littering the top, he could see countless bottles and brushes. "Mistress?" He turned and saw that she had entered and was standing by the bed. He watched her approach a small table and pick up a framed photograph, turning it to face him.

He could easily identify his mistress and what appeared to be her oldest daughter. The photo appeared recent, given how much his mistress resembled the image, and her daughter seemed to hold his attention. If the master were there and asked him why he was staring, Seven would have said that he needed to study his client, so that he could learn to interpret her needs. Secretly though, his mistress's daughter just had something in her image that held his attention, that made him not want to look away.

He didn't react when his mistress cleared her throat, but he was confused by the small smile she directed at him. "This is my oldest. She is visiting her cousins and will be home tomorrow. I will attempt to take you shopping for clothes prior to her arrival."

"Thank you ma'am." She led him down the hall to a final door and opened it, revealing a large bed and an empty closet.

"This will be your room; you may do with it what you like. Do you need anything?" She watched as he roamed around the area before sitting on the edge of the bed, facing her.

"No ma'am, you have been more than generous to me." She watched him raise his eyes to her, and they seemed to flicker with life before growing cold again.

"Then I will collect you in the morning." He was stripping out of the suit before she had even finished closing the door.

* * *

He had been trying to sleep for hours, and yet it still wouldn't come. Nothing he could do seemed to work, each time he rolled over, the bed seemed intent on trying to smother him. Realizing what his only course of action was, he lifted himself free before crawling down to the cold wooden floor. It wasn't nearly as uncomfortable as the steel floors of the Agency, but it still made him wish for the pathetic mat that the master had given him. "Ahhh," he was asleep before his eyes were fully closed.

* * *

She was also having trouble sleeping, the reason why was lying open on the bed next to her. When she opened the envelope, she was expecting a how-to guide for dealing with harry, not the letter she found. It had been written by a woman, she knew that much. She was also probably someone of high class; after all, she didn't know many lower class women who were taught calligraphy.

_To whoever has purchased Harry,_

_I want it to be known that he will succeed at whatever goal you give to him. I am not saying that as a keeper or the master, but as the person who raised him for the first four years of his life. I can still remember when I found him. _

_It was snowing and freezing rain, and my Master had recently fallen. I wanted the one responsible for his death to pay, so I tracked him down. I eventually found him on the outskirts of a muggle suburb. When I approached, the man who held him was in the process of placing him into the bottom of a trash container like he was nothing. Without thinking I killed the man, not because of what he was doing to a mere infant, but because he was simply blocking my way. _

_I was ready to kill him, but I couldn't. Something inside me told me that the boy was special, so I took him to the Agency who trained me, and raised him like my own. On the day they took him to start his training, it took every ounce of will I had to stop myself from crying and begging them not to take him from me. He was the infant who killed my master, and I had grown to love him._

_I write this next part, because I know without a doubt that my boy will be purchased by a woman. I made sure that Harry knows how to behave in the presence of a woman, and how to obey her wishes. I personally oversaw his training in etiquette and behavior; he can appear as the perfect gentleman if the situation calls for it, and well as servant and lover. He is probably the only heterosexual male you can find that knows how to brush a woman's hair, as well as give her a manicure and pedicure. Simply put, he will be whatever you wish him to be._

That part had given her pause, some woman who had raised this child, had looked on him as her own, was also the boy's first lover. Had made sure he knew how to please a woman and how to care for her, pamper her. Part of her was disgusted at this knowledge, but another was glad, she wanted the best, and this, in some ways, confirmed it.

_I just ask that you do not harm what I have come to think of as my child. Even though he will do what you ask of him without question, just know that somewhere deep inside of him, he is still a child; a young boy looking for acceptance and he will do whatever he must to get it. Please look after him, and make sure he doesn't do something foolish. It was my dream before they took him away to watch him grow and have a family. I can only ask that someday you allow this._

_The woman who raised the Boy-Who-Lived,_

_B.L.B._

The letter had confirmed what she believed when she saw the scar. She had purchased Harry Potter, the wizarding savior, who was raised to be a merciless killing machine, and he was now her property. She could only pray that this information never made it out to the public. If that happened, well, it would make what might happen tomorrow seem tame. Her daughter had an independent streak worse than her. What would she say when she found out her mother had went out and purchased her a guard dog/babysitter?

* * *

Again, did you love it, hate it, felt indifferent, I'm always curious to find out.

-K

Unofficially betaed by -N

**Revised**


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Alright, I've gotten a couple reviews. N pointed out to me that I keep forgetting something extremely important, so here it goes. I do not, and most likely will not ever, own anything that has to do with ownership rights to the Harry Potter Series. Now that that's out of the way, Enjoy.

**Revised**

* * *

It was strange to sleep in a place he had never been before. It seemed the room his mistress had granted him was only like his old one because it had four walls and a door. That was where the comparison ended. It was much larger than his old room. When he would pace the small space after a lesson, he could only take six steps before turning in another direction, this place easily tripled that. Where the stainless steel was cold, and merciless on his broken bones and general aches and pains, the wooden floor had warmth and a type of comfort he was rarely given but often relished.

There was light barely coming through the windows when he woke, and like every other day, he had risen quickly, any weariness was instantly forgotten. He had not forgotten his mistress's promise of leaving in the morning. She needed him presentable for her daughters. He would not disappoint her. In some way though, he feared that he already had. She had expected someone older. By being his age, he was forcing her to change her plans, and he would accept the punishment she gave him. It would be expected that she would need to discipline him for this violation; after all, disappointment is always associated with failure.

* * *

It was almost six in the morning when she rose and went to where she had left what she now knew to be Harry Potter. She was moving with purpose. She wanted him to be proper and ready this morning when he met her youngest. A part of her was afraid of how he would react to her little girl. Physically, he was only teenager, a young one at that. But when she looked into those eyes, she knew he was much older. The way he spoke made that clear as well. He wasn't afraid to admit that had she not purchased him, that someday he would have been sterilized like an animal, and then eventually killed because he was a waste of resources.

Then there was the letter. The woman who had raised him was obviously a death eater, who in a fit of human kindness decided to raise the child as her own. But, she had made sure that he knew how to care for a woman. While she could see the beginnings of strong masculine features in his face, she could not see how he would be able to please her physically. Perhaps she had just read the letter wrong, interpreted it in a way that it wasn't meant to be? That _had_ to be it, he would pamper and spoil the woman he belonged to, and that woman would eventually give him the same amount of attention and kindness that one would give a lover, that had to be it.

When she opened the door, she wasn't expecting him to be kneeling towards her, his hands resting on the ground and his neck stretched in her direction. She also wasn't expecting him to be doing so without a shred of clothing on. Her first thought was to reprimand him; after all, this wasn't what she desired to see this early in the morning. It was then she saw his scars. He was littered with them. She knew why they were there, if he was expected to be the best, then he had to be quite intimate with pain. Those scars were nothing more than memories from his training. Each seemed to crisscross and intersect with another. While most of the scars her husband bore were white and thin, almost faded and easily missed, the child's were anything but. Every single line was wide and in various crimson tones, going from a deep red to a bright pink. She reached out, and with a surprisingly steady hand, touched the closest one.

It went the width of his neck, almost touching both of his ears. The mark was as wide as her middle finger, and she could feel it was raised away from his skin. She was surprised that it was warm, given the cold personality the boy gave off. As she continued to trace it, she smiled when he started to tremble beneath her. "Harry," he stilled. "Why are you not dressed? Or, more importantly, why were you waiting for me like this?"

His voice didn't betray any emotion, but she could feel him begin to shake again, this time harder. "You said that you were disappointed with me, that you expected someone older." She noticed that he was practically vibrating now, and resisted the urge to let him feel her nails. She was sure his reaction would be endearing. "I apologize for failing you there," with a sigh, she was almost disappointed when he stilled. "And I accept any punishment you see fit."

A dark part of her was thrilled with what he was offering, he felt he had done wrong, and was granting her permission to discipline him anyway she saw fit. Her mind drifted back to the letter in her room, the woman said that Harry knew how to care for a woman. Would that be so bad? She would be making sure that he was properly trained when it came to dealing with women, as well as making sure he was punished for what he felt was wrong. She shook herself, and pushed the thought away; he would be 'punished', but how would be something decided later. After all, the child was disturbed enough as he was without the addition of an Oedipus complex.

"Get off the floor," she watched him rise, and the dark part of her that didn't see him as a child took in the view. He was tall for his age, almost six feet, if she guessed. It would be amusing to see what her oldest thought of a person younger than her not having to look up at her. His skin was even paler than she thought; she could even see the bluish tint of his veins running through his body. The rest of him almost made her wish she was his age. She could appreciate his form, what looked to be strong, healthy, and bulging muscle. The ones in his arms, legs, chest and back seemed quite strong as well.

"I expect you to be dressed and bathed each morning before myself or my family wakes, is that understood?" She watched, smirking at the momentary surprise in his eyes at the lack of punishment. But quickly it was gone, and 'Seven', was standing before her.

"Yes ma'am," he turned to the bed, and started to straighten the sheets before turning back to her. "Mistress?"

"Yes."

"Would you prefer I stay here until you call for me, or wait for you someplace more convenient?"

"The kitchen will be fine." She turned closing the door behind her. "I expect you to be there in half an hour."

* * *

He was waiting for her when she finally entered. The blood from his face and arm were gone, and his clothes, while slightly wrinkled, still made him look presentable. He met her gaze for a moment, before dropping his eyes to the dish in front of him. She was pleased to see that he was eating something more normal than the night before. Oatmeal with apples sliced in, and if the empty jar beside him was a good indicator, an obscene amount of honey. "You are like my youngest," he put down his spoon and raised an eyebrow at her. "You found your sweet tooth." She could see the beginning of an apology and stopped him before he could start. "Do not worry, its endearing."

She joined him, and only accepted a cup of coffee from the overzealous elf running around the room. "Your elf insisted I have something while I waited for you Mistress." He lifted a cup much like hers, and she didn't stop the giggle when she saw it was filled with milk. "He was adamant that I have something other than water for my morning meal, and gave me what he called, 'little missus's favorite morning munchies'." It was because she valued her coffee too much that she didn't spit it out at the comment, but was still smiling when she swallowed.

"You will learn to tolerate them. House-elves by their very nature, can be trying because of their desire to serve and help. There are even some like Maxie," said elf didn't even stop preparing her daughter's meal when it refilled her coffee. "Whose loyalty is borderline obsessive, I'm sure you can relate." She took another swallow to cover her smile when his face reddened. "But, eventually, you will wonder how you ever got along without them."

"I will make due with whatever you give me Mistress." He rose and, pointedly ignoring the elf's pleas, washed the bowl in the sink, before placing it on one of the numerous shelves. "Mistress, I still wish to prove myself in some way to you." She watched him again kneel on the floor by her side, and taking her hand, lowered his head and placed it on his neck. A part of her wanted to just ignore his request, but judging by how he was trembling, this need to prove himself was almost physical.

"The one who raised you; she taught you how to care for a woman, correct?" She felt him nod beneath her hand, and was pleased to feel that he had stopped shaking. He seemed focused completely on her, if the fact that her elf had stopped cooking and was now focused on removing the wrinkles in his clothes without him objecting was any indicator.

"That's correct," she couldn't stop the blush when his fingers touched the bottom of her skirt, the heat of his hands warming her thighs as he raised it. The moment was almost surreal to her, a trained killer, a thing meant to be power incarnate, was bowing to her, and waiting for her order to continue or stop. "How may I," he held himself still, waiting for her to give him a sign to continue. It was then she realized that Harry, Seven, whoever he was, wasn't some scared little boy; he was a thing that had been trained and bred to do whatever he was told. That knowledge was intoxicating, "Serve you, mistress?" Those words were drawn out in a slight growl. And again she was tempted. She would give in to him, only a little. After all, she was much too old for him.

"I want a manicure."

* * *

His mistress had said that she would meet him in the sun room, and her elves were more than willing to direct him to her. She was waiting for him in a chair nearest the windows, the sun just beginning to fill room with light. The tools and paints were on a table beside her, and the only thing for him to kneel on was a small pillow. He was grateful. He removed his jacket, folding it carefully before placing it onto an open chair, and then rolled up his sleeves before lowering himself before her.

His Goddess, when she trained him months ago, allowed him the comfort of his mat to rest on while he worked. She demanded perfection when he served her, this would be no different. He saw that she had removed any previous polish from her nails, and a wide assortment of colors, stone chips, and files sat waiting for him to use. He took her hand gently and lifted the finest grained tool to her nail. He knew he had made her nervous in the kitchen, perhaps he had been out of bounds, but the Goddess had insisted anyone female who purchased him would appreciate him being aggressive. He moved quickly, making steady movements with his hands. "Would you prefer oval tips mistress?"

He heard her sigh, and felt proud of himself. The Goddess said that acts such as this brought a woman pleasure, and that that would be something paramount to his future mistress's well-being. "A little sharper than that," she turned her head to watch him work, his eyes glowing while he focused on her hands.

He was a tease, she decided. What he did to her in the kitchen, turning her into a pile of goo with his words and touch, made her feel like a virgin. She was a disgrace. _She_ was the _ultimate_ seductress, not the one kneeling before her. _Time to up the ante_. "I like to make my lovers bleed, to leave _my_ mark on them," she was proud when he stilled for a moment before continuing. "I'm sure you can appreciate the idea of leaving a mark." He said nothing, but his face reddened while he moved from finger to finger.

"Did you love her, the woman who trained you?" It was a simple question, but it was something she wanted to know. He gently placed her hand back in her lap before moving to the other.

"In some ways, I suppose you could say I did." He stopped and took her free hand, gently pulled them both towards his neck. She could feel his steady pulse against her nails when they pressed against his skin. When he pulled them back, she saw ten beads of red against the white skin. "Is that sharp enough Mistress?" He didn't smile, but she could see the amusement in those emerald eyes. He was enjoying teasing her as much as she was him. Silently, he placed her hands into the bowl of water beside them, and sat back on his heels, letting her enjoy the warmth of the soak.

"What did you mean by, 'in some ways'?" He rocked on his knees, and reaching for the towel beside her, lifted her hands, and dried them.

"She showed me kindness, and saved my life. In some ways, she was like a mother, other times, a friend. But one thing above all others, she insisted that I be able to care for the person who would purchase me. What color polish would you prefer?" She tapped the wet burgundy, and he moved quickly. Soon, he was finished and was tilting her hands in the gathering light. Satisfied that everything was evenly covered, he opened the box nearest her and turned the contents towards her. "Would you prefer a stone chip Mistress?"

"The white diamonds will be fine Harry," she hadn't caught it before, but his name seemed to cause him to flinch. He moved quickly, placing the stones, and moving her hands under the dryer. "Seven," no flinch this time. "Why do you hate your name?"

He switched off the dryer and took her hands, examining his work before adding another layer of polish. "I don't necessarily hate my name, but, Harry was a weak child who cried at the slightest feeling of pain. He died ten years ago when he was attacked by men wearing white in a windowless room. I rose where he fell." He placed her hands again beneath the dryer and looked into her eyes. "I am Seven, Harry was someone too weak to survive, and too weak for your needs mistress." She sat in silence as he waited, until he took her hands again, examining them in the light. "Are you satisfied Mistress?"

He had taken liberties at her request, she noted. Against the dark of the burgundy, he had added a feathered brush of silver along the three longest fingers of each hand setting a dark black chip at the end of each feather. "Forgive me Mistress, but I felt you might like the black diamond chip against the silver instead of white. You appeared relaxed, and I didn't wish to disturb you."

The female in her was pleased, with both the work and the person before her. She realized now what the letter was trying to tell her. He was meant to please whoever he served, whether it be by killing someone, entering his Mistress's bed, or something simple, like a manicure. Without a doubt, she knew her oldest, no matter how much she'll deny it, after a few hours in his presence, would definitely be smitten with him.

"They're perfect, thank you Seven." She rose, and traced her nails along his scalp, enjoying the shiver she felt. "Come, it's time to wake my youngest, and I wish for you to meet her."

* * *

The hall was engulfed in light as his mistress shepherded him towards the young one's room. She opened the door, and motioned for him to stay in the doorway. He couldn't help but feel something; he wasn't sure what, as he watched her slowly pull the covers back from the young child. The way she hummed brought back memories from when the Goddess used to wake him. The sound of her voice held kindness, and promises of safety. He couldn't help but feel that that was, at some point, a lie. Before he came, they were not safe, but now, he would die before any harm befell them. That was his purpose. Nothing more and nothing less.

He watched as she crooned, and heard a small squeal before the child wrapped herself around his Mistress. "My dear, there is someone I want you to meet." He watched as the child was lifted from the bed, and carried over to him. He saw those bright eyes lock onto him before her face started to glow red and she buried her face in his Mistress's hair. "This is Seven. He is going to be staying with us for a while," the girl turned to face him before once again burying her face in her mother's hair, but not before he heard a quiet giggle.

"It's nice to meet you." Again, he received a quick glance and a small laugh from the child. He was not sure what to do. He knew how to react in a fight, how to survive, but not what to do with an excited child.

"You'll have to excuse her; she is quite shy around strangers." She didn't tell him that her daughter was currently asking her if he was a present for her. She knew that she spoiled her children, but she wouldn't openly admit it. "Come on, it's time for breakfast. Seven," he watched as the same elf from the kitchen appeared, carrying the same dish it had prepared for him to a small bedside table. "Would you please wait for us in the kitchen, after she eats and has bathed, we'll go shopping for you." He nodded and walked out of the room, closing the door behind him. But before it shut, he heard a small voice speak quickly. "Mama, he's so dreamy."

* * *

When they met him, he was impressed by his mistress and her child. The young one was wearing what he supposed was a modest black dress that fell to her knees, and her hair was smooth down her back when before it stuck up in all directions. His mistress had changed from the skirt she was wearing earlier, to a full length dress of dark blue. He noted that its color now matched her eyes, and her hair was pulled up in a complicated twist, held with two pins. A part of him wished that she would have asked for him to help her, after all, he was there to do what she asked. "Seven, come here."

He was at her side almost immediately, as watched as she lifted a small jar and opened it. He watched as she scooped something free from the container and smoothed it over the skin above his eyes. Satisfied, she nodded and looked to his face. "I'm not disappointed with your appearance, because one sometimes cannot help what life gives them. You are my property, and I have no desire for anyone to stare at your scars." Understandable, he thought. She didn't want him to draw any undue attention on this outing, and was acting accordingly. He would have to make sure he thought of that himself in the future.

"I'll take Gabi with me, and you'll follow us," she led him over to the fire, and lifted a small vase from the mantle. "I assume you can follow us by floo?" He nodded and she stepped in, lifting the young girl onto her hip. "The Treasure Trove," he watched as she disappeared in a burst of green flames, and following her example, departed.

* * *

The first thing he was aware of was the disorientation as he seemed to spin constantly. It stopped abruptly, and he was assaulted by bright colors and numerous voices. Stepping out of the cramped space, he could make out his mistress waiting patiently while holding the hand of her daughter. He made his way towards her, ignoring the various people bumping against him, and resisting the urge to draw his knife or wand.

"I'm impressed," he eventually made it to her side, and she lead the way to a room that seemed to be filled with vast amounts of clothing. "Was that your first time traveling by floo?"

"No ma'am," he stood up straight when she selected a black shirt from a hanger and held it against his chest. With a nod, she held it out in front of her and he placed it on his arm. "I was trained how to use it at the Agency," he noted that she seemed relieved when he spoke quietly of where he was raised. "They were preparing me for apparation training when you selected me."

She vacantly nodded and proceeded to load his arms with other shirts, most with longer sleeves, but several that only went down his arms part ways. Next, he watched her lead the way to pants and again repeated the process, hold them up, nod or shake her head, and then place them in his arms accordingly. Eventually, she led him to a set of rooms, and he understood the order.

It was strange, living so long wearing only his skin, and then covering it. But he understood why, the Goddess had said it plainly enough, 'Cover it up Harry, no one wants to see it'. The fabrics felt strange, but when his mistress knocked, he opened it quickly. She pulled him towards a set of mirrors, and began turning him in different directions. "It looks nice, how does it feel?"

He raised a hand to his arms, and relaxed when he felt his weapons underneath the dark green shirt. "Strange, it looks tight across my chest."

"But does it feel tight?"

"No, but it looks like it," he turned to her youngest. "What do you think?"

"He looks pretty," he tilted his head when she hid her face behind her hair with a giggle. He looked to his mistress and all he got was a smirk.

"Did I do something to upset her ma'am?" The girl, Gabi, just giggled louder and he found himself being guided back into the room from before.

"You'll have to excuse her. She just taken with you and you _are_ giving her attention," she entered with him this time, and proceeded to close the door. "I think that these will be just perfect for you, and now that we've found your size, you won't have to try on anything else." He understood, and began to strip himself of the clothing and pull on the suit.

* * *

Soon, it seemed, they were back at his mistress's home, and Gabi had fallen asleep in his mistress's arms. He followed her, carrying the purchases up the stairs, and followed her into his room. "Seven, I want you to put your clothes away, and then take Gabi to her room, make sure that she is resting before you come back down."

"But, isn't she," he looked, and he could see the small smile and bright eyes staring back at him.

"Find me when she is resting." With a nod, his Mistress lowered the girl to his bed, and left them alone. He moved quickly, and was again surprised by the number of clothes that she had purchased for him. She didn't need to buy him so many things, but he was grateful. It had to mean that she was pleased with him, why else would she give him such gifts?

Eventually, the child climbed from his bed, and taking his hand, pulled him towards her room. "Read me a story," she had climbed onto the bed, and pointed to a loaded shelf across the room.

"Which one?" With what he could only assume was a grunt of annoyance, the child rose and stomped her way over to him, before grabbing a book, and again, pulled him back to her bed. He watched as she seemed to build herself a nest of blankets, and then looked to him expectantly.

"Aren't you going to start?"

"Very well, little mistress." Seven didn't miss the way her eyes brightened with the title he gave her. He opened the worn cover, and ignoring the small scribbles that the child must have placed there, began.

He had stopped reading what seemed like hours ago, and just watched the small child beside him. She had constantly corrected him from the moment he first spoke. Saying that he needed to sound scarier, that that wasn't how she would have acted if she met the prince, and various other complaints. But she still insisted that he kept going until her could see her eyes starting to flutter closed. When he asked her if she wanted him to stop, she merely shook her head and told him to keep reading.

Soon though, he could feel the girl leaning against him, and gently, he laid her down and pulled the covers around her. He made his way to the exit and closed her door, and a part of him felt strange, was that what peace felt like? No need to rise quickly and scan for an attacker, to be completely at ease in one's surroundings. What a sad existence. True, he knew his upbringing wasn't normal, anyone could tell that, but it had worked for him, and he was better than most because of it. It was almost pathetic that people were so careless with how they lived, the routines they allowed themselves to fall into. But this child, his Mistress, and her oldest were his responsibility now, so he would do whatever she expected of him without question. They were not pathetic; they just lived their lives differently from him. Anyone who claimed they were something other than perfect, he would deal with accordingly.

* * *

He found her waiting for him in the room they spoke in the night before, and she was staring at the open fireplace expectantly. "Mistress, is everything all right?" She nodded, but didn't look away from where her attention was.

"I am merely concerned for when my daughter meets you, she can be rather trying at times, and I am not sure what she will think of you." He was confused by that statement. What did she mean by that? Had he not proven to her how useful he was? When he drew his wand, he showed no pain as he cut his arm and freed the weapon. Imagine what he would do to someone who earned his anger. When he knelt before her, did he not show her the pleasure he could grant with only a word from her? When she asked him to give her a manicure, didn't she say that the result was perfect?

"Mistress, do you doubt my abilities?" With a sigh, she waved him over to her, and he knelt beside her.

"Seven, you are exceptional, but my oldest is unpredictable," she stroked his cheek, and smiled when the boy leaned into her touch. "Why don't you go into the kitchen and get something to eat before we dine tonight. Gabi will be asleep for a little while longer, and I'll bring them her down after my daughter meets you." He knew when he was being dismissed, and gave her a single bow before rising and leaving his mistress alone with her thoughts.

* * *

She had watched him leave and before she turned back, the fire flared to life. With a laugh, her oldest stepped from the flames and ran into her arms. "Maman, it is good to see you."

"You as well my dear, how were your cousins?" She watched as her daughter rolled her eyes and proceeded to collapse into one of the chairs.

"Fine, all things considered. Rebecca fell in love, again. I swear, she is worse than anyone, probably falls in love five times a day. And Paige, she is excited that her beau finally proposed to her. She said to expect an invitation sometime next year." With a laugh, she rose, and again embraced her mother. When they parted, she smiled as he daughter gasped and pulled her hand up to her eyes.

"Mother, your nails are beautiful, where did you have them done?"

"What, do you think I couldn't do them myself," freeing her hands and crossing her arms over her chest.

"I know you Maman, you don't have the patience to do this kind of work." They held each other's gazes for a moment, before dissolving in laughter.

"You're right of course; I hired someone who turned out to be quite capable of the task. Speaking of whom," she rose and walked out of the room. "There is someone I want you to meet."

* * *

When they arrived, near as she could tell, Seven was resisting the urge to attack her elf when she opened the door. The reason for his desire was obvious; she could see that he was attempting to make himself a cup of coffee, while her elf was almost in tears trying to stop him. "I can assure you, I am more than capable of taking care of myself Maxie." He again stepped over the creature, moving to another counter. "Please leave me be."

He tried to walk away, but the small creature wrapped itself around his leg and with a snap of its fingers, the cup disappeared with a spark of light. "Mistress's Seven doesn't need to cook for himself. Maxie will do the cooking for him, and Seven will sit and wait." She smiled as he walked back to the table, but stilled and turned to face her and her daughter.

He stopped and faced the women as they had entered. He had just wanted to try what his mistress had been drinking earlier in the day, but the confounded creature wouldn't let him take care of himself; if he had been alone, and the elf not his mistress's property, things probably would have gotten violent, and reflected poorly on him and his mistress by association.

"Mistress," he nodded and lowered himself to one knee. The girl with her was the one whose picture she had shown him when he first arrived. Her hair seemed lighter than her mother's, and even seemed to shimmer with an unknown light. Her figure was mesmerizing, but it was her eyes that held his attention. They seemed full of life, constantly moving and looking at everything, while she herself stayed motionless.

"Seven, I want you to meet my oldest daughter, and your responsibility." He didn't miss the growl the girl gave, but it was his mistress's voice that surprised him. It was always soft and gently, but now it was cold and hard. "Fleur, this is Seven, he will be going with you to school this year."

"What?!"

* * *

So, what did you think? I wasn't sure whether or not to put the manicure scene in, but I had fun with it. I took the inspiration for it from the author Joey W. Hill. So again, did you love it, hate it, Feel indifferent?

Hope you all enjoyed,

-K

Unofficially Betaed by -N


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Yes, I know that it has been a while, but I haven't had much time to sit down and write. Some of you pointed out in your reviews that "Seven" trembles frequently. If I don't point this out before, here it is now. In regards to reviews, I love them all, even the negative ones. Why, because the person who took the time to tear this apart, is still acknowledging and admitting the fact that they read this. Without further ramblings, enjoy.

* * *

Seven watched as his Mistress' child seemed to take one look at him, before storming out the room and slamming the door behind her. He couldn't help but notice that even with the sudden movement, and harshness of her actions, she still made everything appear graceful. Hearing a sigh, he turned and saw his Mistress lowering herself into a chair and accepting a steaming cup from the frantic elf. She raised her hand, and waved him over to her side. "Believe it or not Seven," she took a swallow, and shaking her head gave him a small smile. "She reacted better than I expected her to."

"And what did you expect from her?" She pointed to the ground beside her, and understanding the gesture, sunk to his knees.

"Truthfully," at his nod, she continued. "I was waiting for her to draw her wand and send you crashing through the wall and into the sitting room." She didn't expect him to acknowledge what she said, but was still curious. "I wonder though, what would you have done if she did attack you?"

"I would have waited for your order. You only gave me permission to protect your child, not to attack her. If an order would have been given to stop her, I would have disabled her, hopefully with very little lasting physical damage to her. After all, she is still your child. If you would have told me to stop her, I would have done whatever it took to get her under control, nothing would have been off limits. And if you told me to kill her…," He didn't finish, and she understood. It would be obvious what would have happened. He would have moved quickly, and her Flower would have been dead before she knew what had happened. "Mistress, would you like me to speak with her?" She could see that his eyes were still dead, but there again, was a flicker of something that made him look human. If only for a moment.

No, perhaps later they could have some alone time, but she needed to deal with the problem herself. "Seven, I want you to go to the sun room," she rose, leaving her cup behind, forgotten. "I will send her to you after we have spoken." She didn't wait for him to speak; she already knew what she had to tell her daughter. It was time that Fleur heard the truth.

* * *

Fleur Delacour considered herself to be above such things that people thought women like her would need. She had proven herself during her school's dueling competition. Her hardest challenge was against a full-blooded Veela, and even then, there was no challenge. Three spells before her opponent could start was all it took. By the time the smoke had cleared, the girl was lying on the ground unable to continue. So why did her mother feel the need for her to have a babysitter? It was humiliating.

She was out in the gardens when she felt her mother's presence behind her. She was already turning, a snide remark ready to fly, when she saw her mother's face. Fleur knew that she was only a few seconds away from sprouting feathers. When she approached, she heard the slight, hawkish tone in her mother's voice. "You are sixteen years old," she looked down, already feeling her anger shrink under her mother's gaze. "Not, five. I will not tolerate you throwing a temper tantrum and storming out of the room without even hearing why I had purchased that man for you."

"It's obvious isn't it?" She still wasn't brave enough to meet her mother's eyes, but the woman wouldn't know that by the sound of her voice. "Even though I am almost an adult, you still think that I can't take care of myself." She looked up and saw that the glare had softened, and relaxed slightly. "Why?"

She had expected this, but still, her daughter's attitude was still surprising. At first, she was waiting what felt like an inevitable screaming match, but Fleur was again surprising her by acting like an adult. Taking her oldest daughter's hand, she pulled her back to the entrance to the sun room, and settled down onto one of the benches. "What do you remember about the day your Father died?"

Whatever she was expecting, that question definitely wasn't it. "You said that his heart had given out at work, and that he had been sick for some time. That, even though it was sudden, it wasn't unexpected." Again, she regretted lying to her child. It had seemed to the right to do at the time, but now it seemed that, like everything else so far this morning, was going pear-shaped.

"Fleur, your Father was only forty, even in muggle terms, that was the prime of his life. Do you really think that he could have risen in the ranks of the hit-wizards by having a heart condition? They would have drummed him out before his first week of training had been over. Your Father had been poisoned." She ignored the sound from her child and continued. "The ministry knew he had been murdered, but they weren't sure then, and they still don't know who would have killed him."

"Why are you telling me this?" She looked up, and could see the tears forming in her daughter's eyes, along with confusion and anger.

"Your Father made lots of enemies through his work and his marriage to me. Many times, these grounds," she pointed to the various trees and plants surrounding the property, "Were soaked in the blood of people who wanted him and all of us dead for his choices in life." She turned and wiped the tears from her daughter's eyes, taking a moment to smile at her. "Your Father loved us all, and never hesitated to kill in order to keep me, you, and your sister safe. I won't even go into the depths he went to keep you from finding out about the battles that took place here." Her eyes rested for a moment on the iron-wrought fence, remembering the man who died sliding down the narrow post.

"What I am trying to tell you is that your Father died protecting you, and that I wanted to make sure you stayed just as safe without him here." She nodded at what her mother was saying, but still.

"I understand what you are trying to say Maman, really, I do. But still," she turned, and could see a figure standing in the center of the room. "What makes you think that this, this boy, can keep me as safe, or safer, than Papa could?"

She watched her mother relax, and a genuine smile grace her face. "I know he doesn't seem like a person who could protect us, but let me assure you dear, that he is more than capable at keeping you safe. Why don't you go meet him?" She held in the laugh as her oldest gave a very unladylike and undignified snort.

"What would I have to talk about with a little boy?" She rose and pulled open the door, waiting for her mother to follow, but she only shook her head.

"How about a duel then?" After her nod, her mother looked over her shoulder and raised her voice. "Seven, you may do whatever you have to in order to defeat my daughter. But," she raised her hand to silence Fleur. "You must not leave a single permanent mark on her skin, a single drop of her blood will not be spilled, and I expect her to only be angry at losing to you when you're finished. No mental or physical trauma of _any_ kind. Understood?" With a look of disbelief, she turned to face the bald creature waiting for her. "Good Luck Fleur."

* * *

He had watched them speaking, and stood waiting for them, planning what he might be able to do to appease his Mistress's oldest child. She seemed incredibly tense, perhaps she would permit him to prepare her a bath, maybe help wash her hair as well? The Goddess often enjoyed the time they spent together when he bathed her. She often told him that the experience was quite relaxing. Soon, they had entered the room, and he heard his Mistress' orders clearly. Prove yourself to my child, bring her down, but don't hurt her. "Mistress, will you stay and watch?"

When he was given a nod, he watched her move to the chair she sat in earlier that morning, and started to pull off his jacket. "Miss Fleur," she turned, and a lifted eyebrow was the only acknowledge he received. "A moment before we start please." He folded the jacket quickly, slipping off the holster on his shoulder before moving to the buttons on his shirt.

"What are you doing?" He continued to remove the garment, and again folded it before placing it next to his jacket.

"I didn't wish to damage them," he pulled the holster back on. "You may make the first move."

Fleur had watched as he stood tall and stripped his shirt off, before pulling some sort of leather contraption back onto his chest. She wouldn't admit it out loud, but he was quite attractive. While he wasn't as large as her Father, the muscle that was visible did seem quite appealing. And the low cut pants did make his hips enticingly visible. She shook her head and turned her glare onto him. He was doing this on purpose, just to put her off. She couldn't wait to blast him on his ass.

"What should I do with you when you lose," she couldn't resist the smirk at his blank face.

"Whatever you feel is necessary," it irked her that he remained so impassive.

"If I win, I want you out of this house." At his nod, her smirk turned into a full grin. "If you should win, which I highly doubt, I'll let you do whatever you want to me. Does that sound fair?" When she gave him an innocent pout and batted her eyes, she heard a light laugh. Turning, she saw her mother shaking her head, almost like it was out of pity. For her or her opponent, she wasn't sure.

"Understood," she watched him lower his arms to his sides, and stood almost relaxed. "Again Miss Fleur, you may make the first move."

* * *

She was angry, and originally, wanted to just put him on his ass, but no one should be this arrogant. He would be lucky if he had the strength to drag himself off their property by the time she was finished with him. Fleur prided herself on being to cast silently, and knew that it would end the duel quickly. Quickly, she sent five stunners straight towards him, and was surprised when he didn't move. Turning away from what was sure to be a painful, embarrassing loss, she looked towards her mother and grinned when she heard the spells strike him.

"Mother, get whatever this dog brought with him, I'll put him outside." All she got was a head shaking, and a finger pointing over her shoulder.

"Are you sure about that dear?" Turning, she saw that the boy, correction, well-developed boy, was still standing. At first, she thought that the spells had worked, that he had simply frozen with his eyes open, standing up; after all, it had happened before. That was until he took started to walk towards her.

"Your casting abilities are acceptable," he sidestepped the conjured ropes she sent flying towards him, and continued to speak. "But the flourish you put at the end of each casting takes a lot of power away from them. Remember," she didn't see him draw his wand, but suddenly, it was in his hand, and he was drawing his arm back. "A stunning spell is done with a downward motion," he brought his arm down slowly, as if he were teaching her a lesson. "Followed with a sudden thrust forward," when the spell flew, she dove to the side, and felt a flutter of panic when the stone she was standing on before exploded.

She stopped holding back, and started use banishing charms and even the odd cutting curse, and yet, the boy kept stepping around them all, he wasn't even trying to shield against them. She finally scored a hit, and had to keep from cheering when the thin red line started to drip down his chest. She was almost surprised as he was, but he only rubbed a hand against the injury, like it was an itch, looked at her face and continued to come closer. How can this bastard keep coming, he's not even fighting back, she had backed up, and froze when she felt her back touch the glass panes. Eventually, he was only a few feet from her, and she realized that he wasn't just some student with a chip on their shoulder, he was toying with her, waiting for her to tire, which she had.

He had stopped, and lowered his wand to his side, simply waiting for her. "Miss Fleur," she raised a hand to her face, and pushed the sweat slick hair out of her eyes. "You can still end this, just say the word, and accept the fact that I am going to be with you for a long time." Her answer was to tackle him to the ground and straddle his hips. When she released her control, Fleur felt him shudder beneath her, and started to feel a smirk forming on her face.

Fleur again changed her mind of the person beneath her, of this little boy, no this well-developed boy, she rolled her hips and grinned. Correction, this _extremely_ well-developed boy was good, but she was the best. Even if he was more powerful, all it took was a little "Pull", and she had him defeated. She wanted to enjoy this, so when she felt his hands beginning to wander around her waist and chest she ignored it. This was probably the closest he had been to a woman his entire life; she could give him a _small_ victory.

It was _almost_ a shame that he was going to be leaving the house. He would've probably been fun to introduce to her friends; no doubt they would have been panting over him within a few minutes. "Any last words," she lazily dragged her wand down his face and smirked, feeling him practically vibrate underneath her. When she brought her wand point to rest over his heart, at a zigzag crossing of scars, he seemed to stop moving.

"I win," it was then that she felt a slight point pressing against her chest over her heart. Realizing that his hands had stopped moving, she looked down, and saw a narrow blade pressing into her chest. The little ass actually did it, he beat her, badly. He let her tire herself out, lulled her into a false sense of security, had gotten her to actually start gloating, and then rubbed her face in his victory. It was almost impressive, almost.

With a huff, she climbed off of him, and stomped her way over to where her mother was standing. She wasn't ready when her mother leaned into her ear. "Impressive isn't he?" She pulled back with another laugh, and steered her towards the kitchen. "Fleur, why don't you go get your sister, and bring her to the kitchen. She has been waiting for you, and I'm sure all this noise will have her bouncing around in her room." Knowing she was dismissed, she collected what was left of her dignity, and marched out of the room, only stopping for a second to send a glare at her defeater before leaving.

"Seven," he was already dressed, and was making his way towards her. "Come with me," he followed quietly, and soon, they made their way into the kitchen. Turned, she pulled him towards her, wrapping her arms around him. "You did very well, thank you for only hurting her pride." Again, he was shaking, and looking at his face, she could see confusion in his eyes. "Is there a problem?"

With a small sigh, he stepped back from her, and turned towards the stove, noticing a steaming covered pot, he moved towards it. "Mistress, there is something I don't understand." He lifted the lid, seeing the fluid, some kind of soup, at a rolling boil, almost threatening to pour out the top, and turned to face her. She watched as he pulled his jacket off and rolled up the sleeve on his left arm. "Why is it that pain means nothing to me? Please, I'm begging you not to move, understood?" At her nod, he made eye contact with her, lowering his exposed arm into the water.

"Harry!" She was on him, jerking his arm out of the water and into her hands before it had been more than a few seconds. But the damage was already done. She could see that his skin had turned an angry red, and that large blisters were already forming and bursting on his skin. Without thinking, she raised a hand and slapped him across his face. The mother in her was angry that he would do something so foolish. "What were you thinking?!" She turned the limb in her hands, and frowning, turned to the elf that had frozen when he saw what had happened.

"Maxie, in my room, there is a bottle of burn ointment. It will be in a narrow, light blue bottle, bring it to me." She felt the tears forming in her eyes as the elf disappeared in a cloud of smoke, only to reappear holding the bottle. "Why?" She poured it liberally over the exposed skin, and began to smooth it over his arm. "What would possess you to do something so foolish?"

"Mistress," he gently pulled his hand free from her grip, and lowered her to a chair the elf had pulled out behind her. "I was trying to prove a point," when she made to grab his arm again, he stepped back before lowering himself to her level. "I feel pain, but I don't react to it. I could cut off my own hand," he gestured to the orange paste covered limb, his eyes never leaving hers. "And the only thing I would do is collect it in the hopes that I could reattach it later." He didn't show it, but Seven calmed when she gave a small, granted it was slightly hysterical, laugh.

"I am sensing a 'but' coming." He nodded, and again she saw something flash through his eyes, but was unsure what it was.

"But, I can't understand why I feel something from you." As if to prove his point, he took her hand in his and raised it to his face. For a moment he was still, but then she felt him begin to shake. "It's the same with your oldest daughter. I can't help but move under your touch. A part of me even enjoys it. I feel my skin heat up, to the point where it almost feels like I'm on fire when you smile at me," he dropped her hand as if her touch burned, and smiling she realized it was desperation in his eyes she was now seeing. "What are you doing to me?"

She laughed when she realized what it was. It was so simple. Even though he had been trained to show no emotion, to be cold and almost unreal, something as simple as what she and her family were was what could make him human. Kind of. "Seven, the Agency, did they teach you about the types of creatures that the world contains?" When he shook his head, her smile grew, she again laughed. "Myself and my daughters are Veela." At his blank look, she continued.

"Women who are Veela," again, she couldn't help but laugh. The entire situation was comical. "We are complicated. Centuries ago, when people still lived in caves and dragged their knuckles on the ground, the Veela were there as well. We did not look as we do now," she closed her eyes, and focused on the power inside herself. Slowly, she felt the feathers sprout and her features sharpen. Opening her eyes, she saw his face was still blank, but those emerald eyes seemed to glow at this discovery. Relaxing, she felt the power leave her, and slowly, her form returned to normal.

"We used to be a much more… aggressive race. Our magic developed into something called the "Allure", but I just call it the "Pull". Books describe it as a kind of trance or enchantment, which tends to muck up a man's mind, making them willing to follow us and do whatever we desire. Back when we were a more savage race, the "Pull" was what allowed us to locate our mates. Without it, the Veela race would have died out centuries ago.

"If I were to guess, no I don't guess, I _know_ you are experiencing that "Pull" now. I'm just grateful that you are disciplined enough to keep from acting on it. But a part of you still enjoys the feelings that it causes." She brought her hand to his cheek, stroking his face. Even though he shook, she could tell that he was making a conscious effort not to lean into her hand, which she rewarded with a smile. "I doubt that you will ever be able to truly ignore the "Pull" that we give off. But I think with time, you will come to accept that it is just going to be a part of your life with us."

"I understand Mistress." He allowed her to take his arm and inspect it again. The paste was working, and with any luck, she put it on early enough that the burn wouldn't scar. Again, she felt him shaking, and it was endearing that he didn't try to pull away from her. She could see it in his eyes that he was trying to fight it, and there was a chance that someday he might not react to them. But, if that were to happen, that would be years from now. Her husband hadn't gotten used to her until after Gabrielle had been born.

"Seven, tomorrow, you and Fleur will be going to Beauxbatons. Her term will be starting then, and I want you both to get there early. The headmistress will be waiting, and I do not doubt that she will want to meet with you." She looked up to see her elf frantic as it poured what she supposed was dinner down the drain and filling the pot to start over. She could hear the creature muttering "Seven", with what she could only guess was hate as it cut apart vegetables. "You do realize," she had pulled him up from the floor and pointed to the chair across from her. "That with what you've just done, you'll be lucky if Maxie ever lets you be alone in his kitchen again."

"I thought this was your house Mistress?"

She let out a laugh as the elf began to set the table with a fury, and seemed like it wanted to burn Seven alive in the oven. "That may be true, but I learned a long time ago that while the house is mine, Maxie owns the kitchen."

* * *

Dinner was a quiet affair, and Fleur couldn't help but stare at the boy across from her. He had changed prior to dinner into a dark blue shirt, and she couldn't stop herself from staring at the weapon hung off his shoulder. She had noticed the weapon during their impromptu duel, but had dismissed it as being decorative. When she watched him place it back in its holster, she realized that he knew intimately how to use it. But that wasn't what she dreaded.

She remembered what she had said to him when they had first started. That if he won, he could do whatever he wanted to her. What she offered him was a terrifying prospect of what may happen tonight. Yet, she wasn't afraid of him, watching him as he answered her sister's questions, perhaps he wasn't a monster, or at least, the kind of monster that would take advantage of young women who run their mouths off.

"Fleur," she looked up, and saw her mother staring at her. "Don't you want to know anything about Seven?" There it was again, a number instead of a name.

"Why do they call you that, Seven?" She watched as his face seemed to change. Before he seemed professional, awake and aware, now though, he just looked tired, like he had finished running a marathon and been told he had to go another ten miles.

"Where I was raised, after a time, they taught you to forget your name, and only respond to a number." She watched as his face seemed to darken, but she pressed.

"How did they teach you?" She watched him turn to her sister, and then her mother.

"This doesn't seem like the best setting, I wouldn't want to put you off your dinner."

She nodded, but wasn't happy. He was hiding something, and she would find out where he came from eventually. She was Fleur Delacour, she would get what she wanted.

* * *

"Miss Fleur," she was entering her room, when she saw him standing in the center. His shirt was off, and she saw that he wasn't wearing his knife or his wand. That didn't mean anything though. She watched as he stood calmly, but she didn't let down her guard, he was half dressed, in her room, nothing about this seemed right. "I remembered what you said, please come with me." She watched him walk into her bathroom, and felt the bile rise in her throat. He was going to take her in the bathroom, like a common whore. She was going to enjoy kicking his ass. When she finally gathered her courage, she entered and felt her breath leave her.

The heat in the room hit her first. It was a humid heat that she knew instantly. The clawed tub was filled to the brim with steaming water, and she had to resist the urge to moan when she smelt the lavender of her bath salts. She jumped when she felt his hands on her shoulders, but froze when they moved to her hair. "I am unsure whether you want to Miss Fleur," his hands stopped and she raised her own, feeling the pins and needles holding her hair in place. "I would be more than willing to help you with your hair, but perhaps you would just prefer to soak tonight."

She turned to face him, and saw that he was standing near her sink, a large fluffy towel in his hands. "What is this?"

With what she could only guess was a sigh, he lowered the towel to the counter and walked towards her door. "I am doing what I was trained to. I will gladly give my life, without hesitation to protect you and your family. I was also taught how to pamper the person I belonged to. I'll leave you to your bath Miss Fleur. Unless you would like me to assist you?"

She froze when he said that, and pointed towards the door. He then left and she walked slowly to the door, before relaxing as she heard the lock catch. Turning back towards the tub, she couldn't deny that it did look inviting. Stripping quickly, she entered and it felt as good as she thought it would. But her mind latched on to several thoughts. First, he pinned her hair up, what man knows how to do that? Second, why, instead of taking advantage of her like she promised, did he only draw her a bath? And finally, what seemed that most important, what did he mean by, 'he belonged to her'? As she sunk lower into the warm water, she could only think of one thing that summed up what she was feeling, "What the hell?"

* * *

Sorry about the long delay, life has been busy, and I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. Narzan, in regards to your questions. It will follow canon somewhat, I will be making tweaks to the plot here and there. It will be during the fourth year, this will be strictly a Harry/Fleur story, they will be going to Beauxbatons, but think of it as a short lay-over, and finally, yes, Voldemort will be the main antagonist. Feel free to fire me any more questions I love them. I also can't remember who asked, but yes, I will be addressing Harry being bald.


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