Plucking the Flower

Fleur Delacour. The name itself was an invocation of beauty, of unearthly elegance and grace. Her grandmother had been a Veela and had passed on the faerie genes down to her mother, which in turn had passed them down to Fleur. The signs first started showing when she was around 6, with an unusual shine of her skin and a tendency of other kids to flock around her. When she was 10, the boys were already beginning to stare, and all the girls around seemed somehow dull and ordinary. By the age of 16 her charms and splendor had already fully blossomed, overshadowing all other aspects of her interactions with the world. Fleur was, without a doubt, the most beautiful girl in her class, school, and possibly country. And she did not know what to do with it.

Now she had just turned 18. Her school years were over and she had just begun an apprenticeship at the Bank of Gringotts, aspiring to forge herself a career out of it. She was now a proper young lady and had to consider finding herself a suitable husband as well, a task that seemed daunting and frightening in her head. While many of her friends believed that this was the easiest thing in the world - after all everyone fell easily in love with her - this was the very bane that had pursued her through her conscious life.

When everyone loves you, no one truly does, thought Fleur. And in a way, she was right. How could she, still so green and freshly sprouted, truly know the feelings and intentions of men, when they were all the same? They all gazed upon her, admired her, worshiped her. And when it was the time for her to choose someone, it seemed as impossible as ever.

That was until she met William. The eldest son of the humble Weasley family, William was a solemn and somewhat melancholic young wizard with a taste for duty and challenge. A fellow colleague at Gringotts, William had managed to quickly make a name for himself, showing both his skills and ambition. But most important of all, unlike the rest Willam was not in love with Fleur. This single fact was enough to distinguish him from the sea of pretendants, captivating her heart and imagination. The only problem was that having spent her whole life fending off affection, Fleur didn’t have the faintest idea how to approach someone herself. So she watched him from a distance and waited.


It was a busy morning at the Bank of Gringotts. The air was filled with the chattering of wizards and witches, the squeaking of wooden carts being pulled by goblins, and the scribbling of pens on parchment. Everything had to be written down, everything had to be accounted for. The highest value of Gringotts was not the gold but the confidence it inspired, the security and loyalty it offered to its clients. There was no place for errors. “Strength through loyalty” was the bank’s moto, and any customer could be certain that the word of Gringotts was as good as gold. And anyone who had gold to give was treated as king. Fleur was diligently working at her desk in a corner of the grand Hall. She was still new at the position and, despite getting the hang of things, couldn’t manage to handle as many customers as the other clerks. Or maybe the customers lingered longer around her, not minding the delays in her proceedings as long as they got to bask in her beauty a little longer. She didn’t have definitive proof, but strongly suspected this was the case.

As she was working there was a sudden shadow that fell on the parchment in front of her. Fleur lifted her eyes and met the gaze of an older gentleman, staring coldly at her. He was wearing a top hat and a large black coat, covering him almost entirely. He was surprisingly tall for the age he looked and his face reminded of untampered steel, both rough and unyielding, with two cold sapphires shining over a slick beard.

“I would like to make a withdrawal from my vault,” he growled with a deep voice.

“C-certainly, sir,” stuttered Fleur, taken aback by his intimidating presence. “M-may I see your identification?”

The man slowly lifted an eyebrow.

“Do you truly not recognize who I am, girl?”

“I-m s-sorry but we must ask for identification….” her voice whittled down under his stern look.

“Here, take this.” He handed her a slip of paper. “I shan’t speak my name aloud here, but it is the number of my vault. It should suffice.”

Fleur unfolded the wrinkled paper - there was indeed a smeared but still readable vault number written on it. But this did not follow procedure.

“I mean no offence, but I can’t just let you into any vault without iden-”

“Any vault?” the growl deepened. “This is my vault and you will lead me to it!” F

leur froze for a moment, uncertain what to say. The situation was completely out of the usual. The man didn’t leave her to hesitate for long.

“Manager!” he screeched with an impatient voice.

One of the head goblins quickly hurried to the desk. He looked the man up and down and his face melted into the humblest of smiles:

“How may I be of service, Sir?”

“I see that your standards for staff have fallen greatly since the last time I was here. This clerk not only failed to recognize me, but is refusing to take me to my vault! I would have never imagined such rudeness and incompetence to be possible at Gringotts!”

For a moment Fleur thought that the goblin was going to side with her, explain to the client that they were bound by rules and procedures. But instead the manager erupted in a monologue of apologies and assurances which made Fleur’s heart sink in her stomach. She had done something bad and she didn’t even know how. Eventually the goblin lead the client away towards the tunnel entrances, before returning to her with a brisk pace.

“What do you think you’re doing, girl?” he hissed in a low voice.

“I-I was just following procedures…”

“You should have called me immediately when you noticed such an important client!” scowled the goblin. “Do you know how much he has invested in us? Now go and take him to his vault and prey he overlooks your stupidity!”

With a sinking feeling in her stomach, Fleur rose from her desk and headed towards the tunnel entrance. The gentleman didn’t say a word to acknowledge her return. Increasingly ill at ease, she led him to a trolley and opened the door for him to step in.

While they travelled down the twists and turns of the underground railway, she felt increasingly lost. People usually liked her. One smile from her could melt hearts and soften attitudes. She had never been in a situation like this before, she had never felt inadequate. With every passing minute she waited for the inevitable apology, or at least some reassuring words from her client. Any second now he would say that it was okay, that everybody made mistakes, but she was a good employee after all. But there was only bitter silence, and the cold sweat that seeped into her robes.

They finally arrived at the vault and Fleur produced a key and murmured an incantation as it turned in the lock, triggering a complex mechanism that guarded the higher security vaults. The doors opened and the older gentleman brushed ever silently past her and into the vault.

There was a lot of money. The young clerk could not believe the heaps of gold sprawling before her eyes. She had seen vaults of wealthy families before, but never anything like this. There were not only galleons but also jewelry, crystals, and all sorts of magical artifacts. She began to comprehend the full extent of the client’s influence with the bank, and the dreadful implications of her behaviour earlier. She felt nauseous.

Fleur tried to speak, but her mouth was too dry, so she just made a weird, screeching sound.

“What is it, girl?” the gentleman turned around to face her.

“I-I’m sorry about earlier, Sir,” she managed to force the words out of her mouth. “Please accept my sincere apology. If t-there’s anything I can do for you…”

“Trying to use that talk to get out of responsibility, huh girl?” His face was stern and wrinkled with disapproval. “Alright, let’s see what you’ve got.”

His wand popped in his hand faster than Fleur could see, and with a swish of its tip and a few mumbled words her robes melted down around her body, collapsing in a heap on the vault floor.

The quarter veela stood completely naked in front of the older man, an expression of speechless horror frozen on her face. He pushed her hair away with the tip of his wand and prodded her perky tits :

“I see that you don’t have much going on here…”

The wand moved lower, down under her belly and into her crotch, pushing her legs apart with a calculated motion.

“Nothing to brag about down there either. You disappoint me, girl. Keep your clothes and shame, I’ll deal with you in other ways.”

The only sound in the vault was the clattering of gold, as the man continued rummaging through the piles, looking for god knows what. He must have found it at some point, because the clattering stopped and he took Fleur back to the tunnels and up towards the reception hall. Then he shot her a final disapproving scowl, and left.


She was dumb and worthless. This is what Fleur thought that night as her hand slid under the cover despite her own will. The thought was so foreign, so shocking to her, that her mind had trouble wrapping around it. She was stuck on repeat, playing that moment over and over again in her head. That moment when her clothes fell down and she was completely naked in front of him. And he didn’t even want her.

Her hand accelerated, her back arching into a curve of shameful pleasure. This was wrong. It was wrong on so many levels, and yet she couldn’t stop herself. At first she needed to explore this new feeling, but now she was drowning in it. The intoxication of her own inadequacy. Her, Fleur Delacour, unwanted. Ignored.

In her heated delirium her hand grabbed for her wand and made a few shameful movements. She had learned the spell from witches magazines but never had the courage to use it. Now that her pussy was filled and stretched by the conjured object, she almost regretted not doing this sooner.

A few more thrusts later and she was cumming, her pussy clenching around the magical phallus as hard as it could. In her mind, it was what should have happened in the vault. But instead he had rejected her. Like she was nothing. Like she was dirt.

Fleur came again.


On the next day the feeling of shame began to creep in her mind. In the cold light of the day her nocturnal episode suddenly appeared like a lapse of temporary insanity and she was horrified of herself. How could she, a model girl for all her life, ever succumb to such low and irrational desires? The more she thought about it the guiltier she felt, until she could feel physical disgust for herself brewing in her mouth.

That was until he showed up. The only man that was truly worthy of her love, and the only man who did not try to fight for her affection. Bill Weasely strolled obliviously past her desk with a pack of parchments in his hands and a thoughtful look on his face. She tried to catch his eye - a little fling of her hair, a subtle turn of her shoulders in his direction - and he smiled at her - a warm, genuine smile, that sent butterflies in the young girl’s stomach.

The smile stayed with her throughout the day as she carried out her usual tasks and well into the late afternoon when she was done with the clerk work and was focused on taking care of the paperwork. When she was done with that as well, Fleur tied her desk, looked around, took a deep breath and decided that it was time to take matters into her own hands. So she got up and headed towards Bill Weasely’s desk.

Gringotts, by virtue of being one of the most secure places in the wizarding world, was also one of the most confusing, with hallways and tunnels crossing and intertwining in a vast underground network that extended well beneath, and indeed well beyond, Diagon Alley. Fleur’s decision of paying a visit to Bill was met with two obstacles: the first was physically getting there, which, magiportation being impossible within the bank, required a not inconsiderable walk through the underground pathways; and the second that Bill, ranking higher than her and assigned to international relations, was working in a department that was technically off-limits to simple clerks. It was not anything highly confidential - she wouldn’t dare risk her job over a whim, but nevertheless she was fully expecting to receive a stern scolding if she were caught there without a good reason.

That is why, as the half-veela graciously descended deeper into the Gringotts maze, she did so cautiously, constantly on the look-out for any high-ranking managers that might question her presence there. The first few hallways were empty, except for other clerks that were running with bundles of parchments, busy with their errands. Fleur tried to look busy as well, walking forward deliberately. So far so good, she thought.

With every corner she turned, her heart was beating. She really wanted to see Bill. She needed to see him. Part of her was feeling stained, unclean. Seeing him would make it all better, she knew. That man had a property of his that made everything brighter and better.

The more she thought about him, the more the young veela was beginning to feel a heat inside her, a burning just below her small, perfectly flat belly. It was a new thing for Fleur, something she hadn’t associated with the charming young wizard before. She had wanted to kiss him, to sink in his warm embrace, to spend long afternoons walking with him. Now - now she wanted something different.

Suddenly Fleur noticed a familiar figure trotting towards her from the opposite end of the hallway. It was the chief goblin that had reprimanded her yesterday. Her heart sank - that was the last person she wanted to be caught by. But what was he doing in this part of the bank? It didn’t matter. She quickly turned to the first door on her right, slipping inside.

The clerk found herself in a small but luxurious room, the kind that was used for contract negotiations with wealthy patrons. There was a small table with four lavish armchairs around it, covered in velvet. On one of them sat a tall elderly gentleman, perched over a handful of papers. He turned his head towards her.


His cold gaze pierced through her like a stiletto. Fleur was frozen in place. Her heart was pounding like a drum in her chest. She could still turn back, mumble some excuse. Meeting the goblin wouldn’t be half as bad as a meeting with that man. That man who made her feel so worthless, so inadequate.

“Why are you standing there like some doll, girl? Sit down and do your job.”

That was her moment to clear up the misunderstanding and leave, Fleur knew. The man’s eyes continued to examine her with thinly veiled scorn. She shivered. She had never felt so small, so insignificant before. Fleur sat down.

He stared at her in silence for a long moment.

“So? Do you have the documents?”

Her cheeks were burning. “I forgot them, she mumbled.” It was better to lie than to admit she had walked in for no good reason. “I’m sure somebody will bring them soon,” she added.

His frown turned into a scowl. “Gringotts is really testing my patience by sending you again,” the man commented with bitter sharpness.

Fleur’s eyes fell to the floor. She didn’t know what to say. She wanted to run, to hide, to disappear to never be seen again. And yet a part of her was burning in a way she had never felt before.

“Come here, girl,” he waved a hand at her.

She slowly rose from the chair and walked over to him, still staring at the floor. Once close, she felt a faint but distinct odor in the air, something like the smell of horses after a long gallop, or the smell of a hound returning from hunting. The smell assaulted her senses in visceral way and she had to fight not to stagger backwards. The man was turning a pen in his hands - big, massive, hairy hands - and he seemed to consider how to best express his dissatisfaction with her.

“Spread your legs,” he commanded.

She obeyed without speaking a word, without thinking.

“So this is what you do, huh?” he erupted in bombastic laughter. “Look pretty, smile, bend over when you have to, and hope everyone is just nice to you and reward you for existing?”

His hand darted under her robe, groping her slit.

“Look at yourself! Already wet!” he said with the most salacious, sardonic tone.

Fleur didn’t have the willpower to argue with him. Her head was blank. The shame she was feeling could only be compared with the inexplicable arousal that she felt from this repulsive man. And there was fear. Fear that she would lose her job. Fear that he would do cruel things to her. Fear that he wouldn’t.

“I’m sorry,” she finally mumbled. She didn’t know what else to say.

“Sorry doesn’t cut it,” he growled. “In the real world there are consequences for inadequacy.” His fingers continued toying with her as her juices ran down her thighs. “I will give you one last chance.”

His hand retracted and grabbed the pen, scribbling something on a piece of parchment.

“Meet me here at midnight tonight and wear something pretty.” He thrust the paper in her hands.


Fleur nodded meekly.

“Good. Now get lost and send someone who has at least half a brain!”

She hurried out and ran for the stairs. If there had been any thought about Bill Weasley before, it was now long forgotten.


The evening was clear and warm, a full moon rising over the silent streets of Hogsmeade. Dressed in an elegant evening dress that fell loosely around her petite figure, Fleur walked past the last row of houses and headed towards the forest. The few people that were still outside at this hour had been near the village center, and now that she was getting farther and farther into the darkness, the young veela suddenly felt alone.

She looked at the piece of paper again, and hesitantly continued forward. The instructions were clear. She was on the right track. But as the last of the houses were left behind her and the trees condensed into a forest, Fleur started to wonder if it wouldn’t be better to turn back. With every step the trees became denser, shrinking her view to a narrow space of the path before her. She hesitated. This was perhaps her only chance to redeem herself in front of that man. If he complained about her again, she might even lose her job. But if she got too deep into the forest…

‘I see you’ve made the right decision,” came a hoarse voice behind her.

A shiver ran down her spine and she stopped without turning around. The crackling of leaves under his footsteps let her know that he was drawing near. His presence was like a cloud of fear and excitement, drawing ever closer.

‘Turn around.’

She faced him. His eyes were cold, looking down on her with thinly veiled disgust. It made her instantly wet.

‘Lets walk.’

The man walked past her and onto the trail, leaving her to follow in his footsteps. They walked for some time, and he did not say anything further, nor did he turn around to check if she was still there. Would he even notice if she turned around to the village? Fleur considered this. It was getting darker. She knew that the place could be dangerous. A tension was rising within her, making her heart pound faster. But she couldn’t help following that terrible man, just like she couldn’t help the heat in her groin, no matter how much she despised herself for it.

Eventually they came to a clearing. The man led her to the center, where there was a massive tree trunk, cut clean perhaps a foot from the ground. There he finally stopped and turned to look at her.

‘I’m going to make this easy for you this time, girl. I’ve given you chances before and you’ve proven your inadequacy. So now you get to do what you’re good at.’

His stare was piercing through her like she was something unpleasant that he wanted to get over with it. Fleur swallowed hard.

‘Your wand,’ he extended a hand.

Her fear chilled her to the bones. It was an unspoken rule in the wizzarding world that you never asked someone to leave his wand. This would leave her completely defenceless. Shakingly she reached and gave it to him.

With her wand in his pocket, the old man raised his own and pointed it at her chest. A few murmured words and a simple motion, and her clothes were lying on a pile at his feet.

‘Down,’ he commanded, pointing at the tree trunk next to him.

She fell to her knees, placing her body on the flat of the trunk. It was just large enough to support her torso, with her neck over the edge and her arms falling on the ground to either side.

Fleur stared at the grass underneath her. She was completely naked and bent over for that terrible man’s viewing pleasure. Even the cool night air could not calm the heat between her legs. Somewhere deep down, she had known all along that it would come to this.

She heard the man whisper a few more words, and the ground around her began to faintly glow. A number of vines sprouted with magical acceleration, coiling around her wrists and ankles and pulling her firmly down, until she couldn’t move an inch. Well, if that’s how he wanted her…. At this point the young veela had stopped caring and braced for the inevitable.

The man began to undress slowly, methodically. He removed his cape and his tie. He left his cane to the side and began unbuttoning his shirt. Tied to the ground, Fleur could only wait and watch as his old, grotesque body was uncovered bit by bit. And for all the repulsion that she felt, the wetness between her bound legs was only growing stronger.

Before putting his trousers away, the old man reached into one of the pockets and produced a small golden globe, shining and translucent. Fleur’s heart started beating twice as fast. It was a recording eye. He tossed it in the grass, a meter in front of her face. It was going to see everything.

The man stood there, waiting. He wasn’t looking at her, Fleur noticed. He was looking at the sky. Then he stepped to the right, entering a ray of moonlight.

With a terrible sound, the old gentleman convulsed, bending in two as his body began to morph and distort. His limbs elongated, thick dark hair began sprouting all over him and his torso grew in height and width. With a howl to the full moon, the werewolf had completed his transformation.

Terrified, Fleur began to struggle, but it was too late. The vines held her tightly to the ground. The creature leapt over her, which made her instantly freeze in submission. A musky, bestial smell washed over her, making her head spin. Then the werewolf’s engorged member pressed against her slit, sinking easily inside the already wet walls of her pussy. Her eyes rolled and a moan escaped her lips as the biggest and thickest member she’s ever felt stretched her all the way to the depths she’d never felt before.

With a low growl over her ear, the creature let her know that resistance was futile. It began fucking her - slowly at first, but ramping up in speed and strength as her juices gradually lubricated his shaft. With every thrust he pushed the air out of her, pressing her frail body down to the trunk, before retracting again. The faster he went the harder her moans were to conceal, until eventually the young veela was helplessly screaming and moaning in lusty pleasure.

In her shock, Fleur had forgotten the recording eye, but now her gaze caught it again, staring at her unblinkingly from the grass. Not being able to conceal her pleasure, she tried to bend her head down and to cover her face with her hair, but the vines sprouted up again and held her firm, making sure that she was looking straight ahead, every shameful reaction captured with the utmost detail.

Her shame drove her crazy. If the beast was pushing her buttons on a physical level, knowing that anyone could see her in this precarious situation was something else entirely. She, the proud Fleur Delacour, squirming like a little bitch in heat under a stinky beast. She would be the laughing stock of the entire wizarding world.

The thought was somehow exhilarating. Her pussy clenched tightly as the beast pounded faster and faster, until he reached a tipping point and plunged deep inside of her. She felt his gooey seed fill her up and she bit her lip to stifle another moan of pleasure. Her fingers dug in the mud, her toes curled up. Her body shivered with an orgasm unlike any other, and her mind slipped down a twisted and dangerous slope. In the back of her head, Fleur knew that something irreversible had happened.


The next few days at the bank were like walking a tightrope. Fleur went about her duties as if nothing had happened, but her mind was running in circles. Every client that approached her desk filled her with dread, expecting to see the face of the elderly man. And invariably when she didn’t, there would be a bitter mixture of relief and disappointment.

The worst was seeing Bill walk by her. He would smile, his usual radiant and innocent smile that used to fill her stomach with butterflies. But now it couldn’t. She no longer deserved that smile. What would he think of her if he saw the recording? Bent over and moaning while ploughed by that terrible beast? The thought was gut wrenching.

It was a month later that she received the letter on her desk. It was a simple envelope, but the imposing wax seal alerted her to its origin. It was a wolf’s head.

Fleur put the envelope away, dreading to open it with other people around. The thought ate at her throughout the whole day, until she finally returned home. Only once in her room with the door locked did she dare to break the seal. Inside was a moving picture of her rolling her eyes in an orgasm with a big wolf on top of her. There was a single line in red ink:

“Tomorrow at midnight, same place.”

She threw the letter into the fire and collapsed on her bed. As her tears soaked into the pillow, her hand slowly crept between her legs and under her panties.


The sky was clear that evening, the new full moon illuminating her path through the trees. It was easy to guess why he had chosen this time for their meeting. The young veela’s heart was pounding in her chest with every step. She was wearing an elegant summer dress with flowers painted on her chest. She was as beautiful as she had ever been, her silver hair shining in the moonlight.

When she arrived at the clearing he was already waiting for her under the shadow of an old oak tree. She approached the big silhouette timidly. He barely moved to acknowledge her arrival.

“Undress,” his voice growled.

The summer dress fell on the grass, revealing her slender naked body. Fleur had not bothered with underwear.


She fell on all fours, pointing her ass towards him and bowing her head down. Her wetness was already gowing. The anticipation and frustration of the last month since their encounter had made her docile and obedient. She was ready for him.

A long howl pierced through the air. Fleur’s eyes grew wider and she lifted her head up. The sound, which wasn’t remotely human, was coming from the old man’s throat. Before she had time to think, another howl answered him, a howl that sounded surprisingly close.

She heard the soft footsteps as the wolf trotted through the meadow, its heavy breathing approaching right behind her. The man’s hand grasped her by the hair and shoved her head to the ground.

“Ass up!” he commanded.

She obeyed.

The wolf mounted her, burying its canine member deep inside her. Her cheeks burned with the redness of humiliation. She had come here knowing full well that the werewolf would have his way with her, but in the end… in the end she was only good enough for his dogs.

That’s what she had become. Soft moans began escaping her lips despite her best efforts. The hand held her firmly down until the wolf was done with her. Then he pulled her up by the hair, forcing her to face him.

He was crouching down next to her. As she looked up to him, wolf semen slowly dripping down her thighs, his expression showed only mild disgust in her. He undid his belt and pulled down his pants, dragging her face closer. Her lips naturally parted and she took him in. It was what she deserved.

While her mouth worked, the form of his member began to change. It grew longer and thicker, but also changed in texture. Long, black hairs sprouted at the base and at the same time she felt his fingers, clutching her hair, transition into claws. He was transforming.

The beast stood up and howled towards the moon. In an instant, Fleur was free from the grasp. She could run, she could hide. But she did neither.

Instead, she waited in anticipation as the werewolf circled behind her, sniffed her crotch and then grasped her tiny frame with its massive paws. She expected him to plunge inside of her. No. She was waiting for him. Quivering in anticipation, her breaths coming in short. But the werewolf yet again toyed with her expectations. His erect member rubbed on the cum-soaked lining of her pussy and settled instead on her ass, forcing its way into the unexplored territory.

The young girl shrieked from surprise, her body jerking to pull away, but it was no use. She had had a month of longing to be filled by the beast again, and for a second time he denied her. She was only good for this it seemed.

He pinned her down with his weight, making all resistance futile. She was his, to do with as he pleased. The thought was strangely comforting. Each thrust was like a soothing promise and soon all will to resist abandoned her. She ruined. Whatever was left of the proud Veela was long gone and a new place was carved into her mind. As the bestial member swelled and knotted into her ass and she felt the warm seed pumped into her bowels, Fleur knew that no gentle lover would ever suffice in her bed.

Fangs sank into the flesh of her shoulder and she screamed out in pain.

Blood flowed down her chest, dripping down her breasts and onto the ground below. The wound wasn’t deep and the bite was quick, but her heart still filled with dread.

He had passed on the curse to her.


Three days had passed since the bite. Fleur had been stuck in her room, not daring to show her face to anyone. Her once beautiful body had changed into a twisted caricature of its former self. Her once pristine smooth white skin had turned darker, with little brown hairs covering her arms and legs. Even thicker ones were sprouting around her pubes. Her jaw had also morphed, where her it was little with a tiny mouth, now it was slightly protruding forward, giving her an animalistic view.

But by far the worst change was her mind. The young girl was completely and utterly broken. For all the evil that befell her, she had spent the last three days horny beyond imagination, constantly looking at what she had become and masturbating to her downfall.

Even now, as Fleur was lying naked in her bed, her mind was spiraling into madness. She had noticed that a little boil was forming on her skin; right next to the bitemark. She had read from books that it was her body’s reaction, trying to expel at least part of the werewolf venom out of the wound.

She took the muggle device - a small transparent cylinder topped with a needle - and approached the spot on her skin. Her hands were shaking. Ignoring the pain; Fleur stuck the needle into the center of infection and pulled the handle. The cylinder filled with a sickly white substance.

The naked girl shifted in bed. There was sweat covering her body and her sheets were sticky from the numerous juices she had expelled over them. Even now, her horny slit was demanding attention.

She looked down at herself. While parts of her body were changed, others had been spared. One of the few remaining things were her breasts - small, perky tits with cute pink nipples and soft skin, still white and tender. They were the perfect breasts that any girl could ever dream of.

Fleur stuck the needle into her left nipple and pressed the handle.

It swelled up, the poison sinking into the flesh and causing soreness and deformities. The pain was almost ecstatic, like divine flagellation for her sins. It was what she deserved.

Somewhere in her mind the last memories of a perfect girl with a perfect husband sank into madness and oblivion. The corruption was running in her veins. It was her destiny now. There was nothing she could do about this. Her mind spiraled into a lusty delirium again.


No one had seen Fleur Delacour for over three months now. She hadn’t showed up at work, she had not visited her friends and family. They searched for her, cast spells and charms, but to no avail. It was as if the young veela had vanished from the face of the Earth.

Deep into the Forbidden Forest, in a cave unmarked on any map, there was a werewolf lying on a stone bed and a young girl huddled next to him. The girl had once been beautiful beyond belief, but now her body was disproportionate and deformed, with patches of fur hap-hazardly covering her skin. Her face had half morphed into a muzzle, with plump lips and a strong jaw. She was drenched in the musky smell of semen, which had dripped and dried around her holes.

The morning sunlight slowly invaded the darkness of the cavern and suddenly the young girl was lying next to an elderly man. Soon the man got up, fetching his garments from a small trunk without paying much attention to the girl on the bed.

“I won’t return next month,” he said dryly.

Her gaze darted up to him, incomprehensive.

“It has been fun playing with you, but I’ve grown bored of it.” He abruptly stepped towards her and severed her leash. “Go on, then.”

She didn’t move. During the last three months all thought of escape had faded from her mind. Where would she go? She could never bear anyone seeing her like this. She had thought that he would keep her as his pet and take care of her.

“I see how it is then,” the man smirked. “This is what you wanted after all. Chaining you up was just a facade. I’m happy that you understand this now.” He patted her on the head. “Perhaps I will come to check on you every now and then. I’m sure that the wolves will take good care of you.”

He gestured at the pack that was guarding outside the cave.

She looked at him with pleading eyes.

“All right, I will leave you one last gift,” he mused. He opened his trunk and produced a vial from it, then placed her bowl on the floor.

“Come here.”

She crawled towards him on all fours, just like he’d trained her.

“This will put you in permanent heat. It will make the time easier to pass, and the males always take care of the bitches in heat,” he explained, pouring the content of the vial into the bowl.

Fleur stared into her reflection then bowed down and began licking.

“Good choice girl,” he commended her. “And this will also make it so you can bear pups, of course. But at least you’ll be finally good for something.”

The words pierced through her. She imagined herself swollen and round, a she-beast left to the leisure of the pack. Her pussy was set aflame.

She felt him walk away without turning to look at her. The wolves were coming towards her, sniffing the air with curiosity. She continued licking the potion, until the bowl was completely empty. Then she bowed her head and spread her legs, ready to become their breeding bitch.