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Harry Potter And The Game of Death

Level 1

Chapter Twenty-Six: Dominance of the Sexes

Lucius stormed into the private booth which he and several other respectable members of good breeding had reserved for the Quidditch World Cup. His gentleman's cane clicked sharply against the solid stone tiles, its distinctive sound acting as a metronome to his thoughts. He barely paid the low-born attendant any heed other than to note that the young man was a half-blood. Parkinson would handle the details, leaving Lucius free to focus on his priorities.

Right now there were three things which Lucius on which found himself focusing above all others. They were consuming his focus and devouring his attention, pushing him to distraction.

It was a state which he could ill afford at this time, and one which needed to be solved before he could advance any further.

Lucius threw his outer robe over a nearby chair, its velvety darkness fluttering as it moved. He then motioned for Draco to fetch some spirits from the liquor cabinet while Lucius sat himself in the sumptuous chair to contemplate his next move.

The first item on his mind was his divorce from Narcissa. The rotten bitch had taken far more from him in the divorce than Lucius considered acceptable, and thus far every attempt he had made to punish her had failed. It turned out that the manipulative vixen had made good use of the time they had each spent wooing members of the pureblood elite; people Lucius had expected to assist him in exiling the woman were proving oddly recalcitrant to his persuasions.

Some had even turned on him, as was most apparent in the woman's mudblood loving sister ascending to control of the Daily Prophet. His gambit to take control of the Prophet through Goyle had failed and the consequences of it were proving to be far more irritable than Lucius had anticipated.

That series of events was the driving force behind why he and Draco had made their appearance at the World Cup so early. With rumours swirling through high society about some of his less than legal business ventures – undoubtedly spread by the harlot herself in order to make him lose face with his peers – it was imperative that Lucius show the flag. He needed to put himself and his heir out into the world so that everyone could see that House Malfoy stood stronger than ever.

Weakness, be it real or imagined, was the enemy. Those who surrounded him could not be allowed to see or smell it, lest they abandon him like the public fleeing a fallen politician.

That annoying train of thought led to the second item at the forefront of Lucius' thoughts. The duel between his son and Potter would go a long way to demonstrating that the Malfoy's were still to be feared. Though the practice had fallen out of favour with much of society, it was still respected amongst those whose opinions truly counted.

Should Draco win in an overwhelming margin, then the boy's future position within pureblood society would brighten. It would serve to solidify Lucius' existing control, and demonstrate the ascendancy of House Malfoy to heights not seen since the days of Lucius' great grandfather.

The troublesome point was that it all hinged upon Draco's performance, and Lucius had grave doubts regarding his heir's ability to defeat Potter. Draco was a fine child; dutiful to his father and loyal to the pureblood cause. But a master duellist Draco was not. Nor did the boy seem to have much potential when it came to the more subtle exercises of power and influence.

Yet Lucius never would have issued such a challenge if he did not have a means for overcoming his son's readily apparent deficiencies.

After mulling over the various options, Lucius settled on two tried and true methods. Each was one he could put into place within a short span of time, and both had the added benefit of tying into the third piece of business on Lucius' mind.

Lucius looked up. His eyes quickly found Parkinson. The portly man had finished taking care of the half-blood attendant and was currently helping himself to the liquor cabinet. Meanwhile, the man's delectable daughter was currently following Draco around like a lost puppy; her vapid eyes, so common amongst certain lines of the well-bred, followed the boy's every movement as her rosebud lips spouted endless praise and adoration in his direction.

Excellent.

By all appearances the girl was utterly infatuated with him. A sentiment which, if Draco's somewhat standoffish behaviour was any sign, the boy did not seem to fully return. Yet it was only to be expected. Lucius had had many conversations with his son concerning women and had found that the boy's tastes differed from his own. A fact which had brought Lucius no small amount of sadness, as he had hoped to take Draco out amongst the lowly muggles to sate their appetite, just as his own father, Abraxus, had done with Lucius when he had been Draco's age.

Leading Abraxus to his death had been one of the hardest decisions Lucius had ever made. But seeing as how it had successfully kept Lucius out of Azkaban, well, he had managed to find a way to live with it. Quite comfortably as a matter of fact.

It was also one more sin he could lay at Narcissa's feet, considering that she had been the one to come up with the plan in the first place.

Lucius' mind turned as watched the girl interact with his son for several minutes to confirm his initial observations. It was important that he be right about the girl's feelings, for if Lucius were wrong then the return from the ritual would be less than ideal.

By the time Hugh Parkinson sat down in the chair next to Lucius' own, he felt certain enough in his judgement to enact the first stage of his plans. After taking a moment to cast several privacy spells, Lucius met the other man's eyes and gave him a respectful nod of his head.

"Per your request, Hugh, I have thought over your proposition at great length." Lucius had indeed done so, and considering that Yaxley and Morgan had yet to report in regarding the cornerstone of his master plan it could not hurt to add some further insurance. "After much deliberation I believe that we might have a place for you in the upcoming bit of unscheduled entertainment we have planned for the general populace."

Parkinon's eyes lit up. But before the other man could say anything Lucius held up a gloved hand to silence him. "However, my dear old friend, nothing in this world comes for free. Everyone else who is a part of the venture has already paid their dues or contributed in some way. The same would be expected of you as well."

Hugh Parkinson nodded his head. Though a note of wariness had entered his eyes, Lucius could see the burning light of ambition overriding it. "I fully understand, Lucius. But what sort of payment might you be talking about? I am an open minded man, but my reach is not so vast as your own."

After smiling at the man's obvious attempt at flattery, Lucius cocked his head back as if he were deep in thought. After several seconds of feigning, he looked back at Hugh with a serious expression. "The payment offered by the others is no longer an option. Its window of opportunity has long passed."

Hugh nodded once again. "But of course."

"And seeing as how I am not so great as our fallen Lord, I would never ask for a vow of loyalty from you." Not yet at least. But perhaps in time when his power had grown greater. "So I ask of myself, Hugh, what should I request of you? Perhaps money? Or maybe a favour of some sort?"

Parkinson grimaced. "I would of course be amenable to either option. You are a gentleman of good standing and good breed, Lucius, and I have total trust in your word. But my finances are currently stretched somewhat thin at the moment, and I am uncertain as to what sort of favour I could ever give to you that would be of equal worth."

Lucius nodded in seeming sympathy. One of the keys to deceiving another person was to make it seem like they had given you information which you did not previously possess. Hugh openly confessing what Lucius had already known merely meant that Lucius could now act as though he were making a concession to the other man instead of obtaining that which Lucius had been after from the very beginning.

"Then in that case how about a third option? Let us finalize your daughter's engagement to Draco. But instead of having the girl be his primary wife, as was originally written into the agreement, I would suggest that we change her status to that of a consort or concubine." Lucius opened his hands wide in seeming apology. "I know that she is your firstborn, Hugh, and that I am requesting much of you with this, but I ask that you keep in mind that Draco is my one and only heir. For the future of my House I would like to see the boy sire more children than I, and having two or more wives would go a long ways toward accomplishing such a goal."

Parkinson leaned back in his chair as he considered Lucius' words. The man's beady eyes flickered to his daughter, watching the girl as she hung off of Draco's arm. For once a smile was on Draco's face as the two laughed together at some unknown joke or turn of phrase.

Lucius hid a smile at the serendipity of the moment. He had lain the trap as well as he could. It was now up to Parkinson to persuade himself to walk into it.

After a minute of silence, Hugh turned to face Lucius once again. The man's pudgy face broke into a cruel smile as he held out his hand in agreement. "The two children always have been fond of one another; moving up their engagement by several years should not cause much of a stir, and could instead be seen as a cause for celebration. I accept your terms, Lucius, and look forward to the joining of our Houses."

Lucius shook the man's hand and gave a cold smile of his own. "Excellent. We can finalize the details over at Borgin and Burke's after the opening ceremony has concluded; it's better to keep things such as this between we Purebloods rather than involving those despicable Goblins."

Hugh threw his head back and laughed. "Agreed! If weren't for that damnable treaty I'd pull my gold out of their grubby little claws faster than a Muggle whore could spread her legs."

The two men shared another laugh as they toasted their agreement. Then they settled in to watch the Cup's opening ceremony, though Lucius' thoughts were very much elsewhere. His plan had worked out perfectly, and soon his son would become strong enough to defeat Potter without breaking so much as a sweat.

How simple a thing it was to trick a parent into giving away their child for a momentary gain in status or wealth. Lucius had seen it happen more times than he could count, yet he never failed to get a thrill from it. What made this event even better than usual was that Lucius was certain that Hugh had at least an inkling as to why he had pressed the man for Pansy's hand.

And in return for his daughter Hugh would receive exactly what he desired. The chance to participate in an event which would send echoes throughout the entire magical world and secure Lucius' ascendancy amongst those who had once followed the fallen Dark Lord.

As for Pansy… well, the girl's matters were of little concern. If Pansy were lucky, then she might someday bear Draco's heirs. And if she were not so lucky, then at least the girl would bear the noble Malfoy family name.

It was a good sight more than most women ever deserved.

In the south of France there was a beautiful mansion. Situated by the Mediterranean Sea, its rose hued walls and yellow trimmed windows loomed high above the ground. Of sixteenth century Italian design, the mansion looked out upon a sumptuous private beach to one side and acres of manicured gardens on the others. Glimmering lights from magical creatures shone amongst carefully maintained trees and bushes, while the sounds of a wild herd of Hippogryphs echoed faintly upon the air.

The sounds of their calls washed through one of the open windows, where it entered the ears of two women locked in a battle of wills. A battle that was reaching its conclusion as each woman stared angrily at the other.

Fleur Delacour gave an annoyed huff as she stared at the woman seated in front of her. She may have approved of the necessity of what was being forced upon her, but that did not mean she had to enjoy it. Nor was she required to enjoy the woman who was supposed to be her tutor on the stupid subject.

"Okay Ms. Delacour, let us try it again. This time please enunciate the words written on the paper clearly and precisely."

Fleur looked down at the paper in front of her. The words were easily understood and looked so simple to say. After drawing in a deep and strained breath she did as the horrible woman had requested. "Zee leetle boy 'oo went to zee market bawt a bag oof bread."

"No!" The tutor rapped Fleur's knuckles with her wand as the woman forcefully enunciated each word. "That is wrong again, Ms. Delacour! The word 'the' has a 'th' in it. There is no 'z' in its spelling, and the letter 'e' is not pronounced so hard in that context. Honestly! For a woman whose mother can speak perfectly well, if in that dreadful American accent, and whose younger sister has demonstrated a high aptitude in the limited time that I have had with her, your continued inability to follow their example astounds me! Now try it again."

Fleur briefly imagined setting the woman's head on fire. It was not the first time this mental image had crossed her mind. Yet nevertheless she pressed on and made another attempt at saying the sentence. "Zee leetle boy 'oo..."

"No. No. No!" Another rap landed on Fleur's knuckles. "That is wrong yet again. It is pronounced 'the little boy who.' Try it again!"

Fleur felt her molars grind against one another as she made her next attempt. "Zee leetle boy..."

"THE LITTLE! There is no double 'e' sound in the word 'little.'" Ms. Peter's pasty white face flushed with anger as she moved nose to nose with Fleur. "It is the letter 'I' and is to be pronounced as such. Only uneducated fools or folk of common breeding are unable to speak it correctly. Neither of which applies to someone of your renowned lineage, Ms. Delacour. Now try again and this time do it right."

"ZEE LEETLE BOY 'OO..."

"WRONG!"

This time Fleur did not imagine setting the woman's head on fire. A quick flash of her wand had the bitch knocked out and floating out of the window before the dreadful woman knew what had happened. When she next awoke the woman would find herself lying on a bed of mixed manure the gardeners kept for maintaining the plants around the mansion. A position for which, in Fleur's mind, the woman was most eminently suited.

After taking a moment to appreciate her handiwork, Fleur closed the window and walked to her mother's study. The opulent halls around her might as well have been the plain white walls of a mental institute rather than the richly decorated ones she had grown up seeing. The portraits of her ancestors, each of whom had wielded immense power in their time and proud women all, failed to dilute Fleur's growing anger. While the less said about the extravagant woven tapestries the better; those she had never liked.

By the time she arrived at at the study Fleur was fully enraged. She barged inside of the room without knocking and slammed the door shut behind her. Then she levelled a glare at the tall woman currently laying on the room's large padded table as two men massaged her naked body. The woman's glorious pale figure, a model of beauty renowned throughout the wizarding world, raised slightly in greeting.

Appolline Delacour arched a delicate eyebrow as she looked in her daughter's direction. Perhaps detecting what was going through Fleur's mind, the woman raised a creamy white hand for the two men to pause in their ministrations and leave the room. Both men gave Fleur's mother a warm smile and obeyed, nodding their heads to Fleur in passing as they left.

Fleur barely paid their absence any attention. Her mother's fifth and sixth husbands were mainly kept around for physical reasons. Neither one seemed to have much of a brain, and since neither one was capable of speaking French there was not much of a relationship between the two men and Fleur. She had a much better relationship with her father, Appolline's first husband, and Gabrielle's father, Appolline's second husband, than she did any of the others.

Before Fleur could launch into a furious diatribe, Appolline cleared her throat and spoke in flawless American English. "Well, my darling flower, I can guess the reason as to why you have interrupted my personal time with my husbands. You may lay out your concerns, but you must do so in English. I will not have you waste what progress you have made by relying upon our native tongue."

"Non! Je ne..."

"Fleur. Either speak in English or I will rescind my permission for you to participate in the Tri-Wizard tournament." Appolline's sultry voice was as hard and cold as a sharp steel blade. "The choice is yours."

Fleur glared at her mother. For a moment, with the anger and rage she felt coursing through every vein of her body, Fleur nearly decided to defy her mother and speak in French anyway. It would serve the woman right to have a command rejected for once in her life. Goodness knows that no one else in the house was willing.

But Fleur forcefully wrestled that dangerous thought into submission; winning the Tri-Wizard tournament had become one of her major goals in life and she would not see herself fail to even reach the starting line.

Losing due to superior competition was one thing, as a life spent without encountering strong opponents to test herself against did not appeal to Fleur in the slightest. Failing because she could not control her own emotions, however, was another thing entirely, and was wholly unnaceptable.

So with all of the grace she could muster, Fleur grit her teeth and spoke in halting English "Oui, maman. I shall… try… to follow your weeshes to zee best oof… of my abileetees."

"Good. As my eldest I expect as much from you. It is pleasing to see that you have not disappointed me." Apolline sat in a cushioned chair situated nearby the table, where she crossed one of her creamy white legs over the other as she leaned into its soft embrace. "Now, considering that you are supposed to be in your tutoring session for another half an hour, I assume that something has happened regarding it. Is there an issue with Ms. Peterson's instruction?"

Long accustomed to her mother's preference for nakedness when at home, Fleur rolled her eyes at the mention of her tutor. "Oui! Zee woman 'as all zee grace and patience oof a… of a jackal! And zee manners of an 'ungry Manteecore to go weez eet. I beleeve zat I 'ave learned all zat I can under 'er instruction and 'ave ended our remaining sesheens."

"I see." Appolline pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Is Ms. Peterson aware that you have terminated her contract?"

"Ben non." Fleur flushed in embarrassment at her mother's question, shame at her earlier lapse in control overriding her anger. "After wee beegan to argue weez each ozzer, I may 'ave stunned 'er, and left 'er un… un… phaw! Asleep on zee bed oof dung in zee garden." Fleur spat out a curse in French before returning to English. "Euh! Maman, I 'ate zees language. Eet soundz stupid and eets grammar makes no sense!"

Appolline grunted slightly in bemused understanding. "That may be so when compared to the beauty of French, my beautiful little flower, but English is the current language of commerce in the world, and it is also the language of the nation in which you will soon be living for a year. It would behove you to learn it. As I intended with the hiring of Ms. Peterson for yourself and Gabrielle." The gorgeous silver-haired woman gestured for Fleur to continue. "Now, describe for me exactly how you terminated your future sessions with Ms. Peterson. I get the feeling that I may need to take action of my own to fix something you have already done."

Fleur grimaced upon hearing that. What she had done to Ms. Peterson had felt very good in the moment, but would most likely result in some sort of punishment from her mother. Summoning her courage, Fleur did as her mother had requested and began to state what had occurred between herself and her tutor.

A look of… something… flashed through Apolline's eyes as Fleur spoke. A flash of emotion that Fleur could not identify before it was gone. But the powerful Veela never changed her expression in any other way as Fleur spoke. Apolline merely shook her head in obvious disappointment upon Fleur reaching the conclusion of her tale, so Fleur ignored the flash she had seen and listened to her mother's words.

"Well, that truly is disappointing, my daughter. Both in terms of her conduct and in the conduct you displayed in reacting to it. Doing something similar in the future can, and will, be used against you by those who would wish to do you harm. Remember that lest you suffer a fate worse than death."

Fleur winced at that comment. It was lighter than she had expected to receive, but was most assuredly deserved. Veela and those descended from them may have obtained some measure of acceptance in magical France and other nations across the world, but individuals who desired to harm them were not without their own support. It was a fact of life that Appolline had hammered into her children from a young age, yet was something which Fleur still struggled to follow.

From what she had heard magical Britain was far worse than her own nation in this regard. Fleur could expect to receive heavy discrimination from much of the populace and little support when it reared its head. Under such circumstances, making an emotional reaction of a similar nature could prove to be exceedingly dangerous.

"But, if you truly feel that you would not be best served to continue your instruction under her tutelage, then I will support your decision." Appolline gave her daughter a pointed look. "For all of your continued wilfulness, my daughter, you have in the past demonstrated a keen ability to know what path you should take. I will have Jorge draw up the severance paperwork later this afternoon and make Ms. Peterson's dismissal official. We will most likely have to compensate her further as a result of your… petulant… action, but I don't foresee any other issues at this time."

Mollified by her mother's quick action regarding the despicable tutor, Fleur felt the anger and embarrassment welling up from inside of her begin to drain. But before it went away completely, there was still an important question which remained to be asked. "And I weell not need to 'ave a new tutor, maman?"

Apolline shook her head. "No, I think that the time for hiring a new tutor has passed. While possible, I would prefer to focus on other areas. Such as a little trip that I have planned for you and your sister to take alongside your fathers and myself one week from now."

A trip? Curious as to what might be important enough to interfere with the daily training sessions she had started with Madame Maxine after the English had officially decided to drop that silly rule prohibiting teachers from assisting their students, Fleur sat down in the cushioned chair next to her mother's. "What trip would zat be, maman? I 'ave not 'eard any mention of it."

"That, my dear flower, is because it was intended to be a surprise. One which I had not meant to share with you until the week prior to our departure. But considering the imminent dismissal of your tutor, I feel that it would be best to speed up the timetable and leave earlier than I had initially planned."

Apolline crossed her slim arms under her chest, the soft white flesh of her bountiful breasts spilling out under the pressure. "To help you acclimate during the year you will spend in Britain, your father and I felt that it would be best to attend the World Quidditch Cup which is to be held there over the coming weeks. The original intention was to only view the final match up, but with the dismissal of Ms. Peterson I think that you may be better served if we were to attend some of the other matches as well. Being there will help expose you to some of their rather… quaint… customs and bizarre oddities. Which in turn should allow you to more easily adapt when you are forced to live among them."

Fleur's eyes flashed in anger as she jumped to her feet. "Non! I do not weesh to go to eet. Zat eevent eez for fools and morons, not for ceeveelized people such as us. I do not weesh to go!"

Appolline gave an amused laugh as she rejected her daughter's rejection. "Your request is denied and we will depart in one week's worth of time. I expect you to use the time spent there to your advantage." Fleur's mother pushed her arms further inward, causing the woman's already spilling breasts to overflow. "I would suggest that, in addition to continuing your training, you follow your sister's example and make friends with one of the local students; any information you can gather on your potential competition could be well worth the effort."

When Fleur opened her mouth to try to continue her protest, her mother's resulting sharp look caused her to reconsider. Instead, Fleur settled for giving an unladylike snort of disbelief. "Fine. I will try to do what you suggest, maman, but I do not know about zee making of friendz. I 'ave found zat most peoples my age to be both seelly and petty. I doubt zat zis 'ermione person eez as nice as Gabby 'as mentioned to us; Gabby can often be too kind and nice for 'er own good."

Appolline shrugged her slim white shoulders. "Perhaps. Or maybe it is one of your sister's greatest strengths. But regardless of the strengths and weaknesses of your sister's personality, Fleur, my point remains. As I expect the trip to last for several weeks, I suggest that you follow my advice and prepare yourself accordingly."

The woman then stood up and moved back to her prone position on the padded table. "Now that we are finished, please send Hakeem and Satoshi back in while you are on your way out. They had not completed the massage when you interrupted, and my muscles have been feeling awfully tense of late after all of the last minute meetings I have been forced to attend; the removal of his bizarre rules aside, Professor Dumbledore's strange removal from the tournament's British delegation has proven to be quite vexing."

Appolline gave a frustrated groan, as if the very thought of her recent meetings was enough to cause the woman further stress. "Bartemius Crouch might be an accomplished diplomat and fluent in over thirty languages, both magical and non-magical, but he is not a very likeable man. He lacks the professor's charm and wit, and I find the man staring at my figure far too often for my tastes."

Fleur gave her mother a sympathetic nod. The issue of men staring at a Veela or a woman of Veela descent was one which was constant and never ending. It had followed them throughout the length of history, and Fleur had no expectations that it would change in her lifetime.

Her mother, a full blooded Veela, had inherited the race's fabled beauty and charm to an incredible extent. Appolline was famed throughout the world for her beauty, and her having eight husbands had given the powerful woman a reputation for being rather free with her sexual favours.

A mistaken impression to be sure, and one which Appolline had used to cruelly crush more than one political opponent who had underestimated her over the years. Nonetheless, it was still commonly whispered about many international circles.

Between her mother's reputation, Fleur's own beauty, and the Allure which she had inherited as powerfully as any full Veela, the end result was Fleur's continual banishment to the edges of whatever social circles in which she found herself. This had given her a rather cynical view of people who asked to become her friend or acquaintance, as in her experience people were either trying to get into her pants or, in the case of several rather deluded girls, get her into the pants of someone else.

What Fleur kept from her mother was that this situation had also caused her to reject much of her mother's advice when it came to romance. Fleur had no desire to form a harem of men such as her mother had done; nor did Fleur desire to lose herself to the company and pleasures of women as her mother had in her own youth. Fleur had experimented with both men and women in the past and found the company of men far preferable when it came to matters of romance.

No, all Fleur wanted when it came to romance was to have a single lover in her life. A man who would love her for whom she was rather than for the gifts she had inherited from her Veela bloodline. A man who could challenge her in ways that would drive her to become better and greater than she could ever become on her own.

Though such a man might be but a dream, Fleur hoped with all of her heart to someday find him.

But for now she did as her mother had bade and left the room. Fleur motioned for the two men standing outside that their presence had been requested and shook her head as both men nearly fell over themselves to return to her mother's side. The behaviour the two displayed in their haste to return to her mother's side illustrated a point often brought up by her mother and grandmother. That the male sex as a whole was weak, simple, and easily led.

It was the single greatest reason why Fleur despaired of ever finding a true partner.

A/N: Quite a contrast between the two viewpoints, was there not?

Happy Holidays to all and sundry, as odd as that may sound after a chapter like this one ^-^

Until Next Time,

Elsil