Malfoy's Hot Sister

What if Malfoy had a hot sister? Harry's 4th year at Hogwarts & the Triwizard Tournament looks a lot different with Draco Malfoy's sister constantly tormenting him and his friends. And what happens when a certain quarter-veela enters the picture? Harry/Fleur/OC.

xXx

A long, ornate and thoroughly decorated table. Mahogany and dragon-oak. It was the centerpiece of the Malfoy Manor's primary dining table. The room itself was larger than one of Hogwarts' classrooms.

Lucius Malfoy sat at the head of the table, in a chair made of gold and diamonds. Narcissa Malfoy to his right. Celine to his left. Draco Malfoy next to Celine, and across from him… the eminent Professor Severus Snape.

"I have heard there will be some… rather interesting events this year, correct, Severus?" Narcissa stated, taking a sip from her golden wine glass.

Severus nodded, spooning a bit of caviar onto his plate. "Unfortunately, I can't say more about it, as there are students present…"

"Nonsense." Lucius said firmly. "My children deserve to know everything that might affect their studies this year. You won't deny my beloved Celine the information that you possess, would you, Severus?"

The 16-year old aforementioned daughter gave a pretty smile at Severus, who averted her gaze and stared with his emotionless, beady eyes back at the Malfoy patriarch. About to enter her sixth year, she was known in all of Hogwarts as the "Queen of Slytherin" due to her icy, elite attitude coupled with being one of the best duelists in the school.

"My dear Lucius, I would never dream of it." He said silkily. "The Tri-Wizard tournament is occurring this year. The three magical schools of Europe will converge at Hogwarts, and each will select a champion."

Celine's eyes widened at this. "And how does one become a champion?"

"Through a magical selection process. You must be 17 or older to apply for consideration." The professor stated tonelessly.

"Ahh, that's too bad." Lucius said, looking relieved that his daughter would not be able to attend.

Celine frowned, her hopes crushed. "Father! That isn't fair."

Lucius grumbled to himself. "Hmm, Severus, would it be possible to lower the age limit to 16?" He asked Severus Snape.

"I doubt Durmstrang and Beauxbatons care about an age limit, but you do realize our... dear headmaster was the one who personally requested this. But I think it may be possible to change, given your status on the board of governors."

Celine's eyes brightened. "Daddy! Please!"

Lucius sighed. "Of course dear, anything for you." He gave an uncomfortable smile and glanced back at Professor Snape. "I will speak to the board at our meeting next month about this."

Snape's response was silky smooth. "I look forward to our esteemed Miss Malfoy's candidacy to the tournament."

The elder Malfoy sudden had a worried look on his face. "However... this Triwizard tournament... Is it not dangerous?"

Snape nodded. "Yes, champions have died, in the past… but rest assured we will take precautions this year to ensure it does not happen again…"

There was a short pause.

"Ensure, you will, if my daughter is selected." Lucius replied icily. The black-haired professor did not flinch, but lowered his gaze, and nodded, almost imperceptibly.

And the rest of the meal concluded in absolute silence.

xXx

"Alright dears, be safe all of you. I want to hear no trouble from your father when you lot return, is that clear?" Mrs. Weasley asked, especially focusing on Fred and George, who innocently nodded in unison.

Arthur Weasley led the six teenagers – Ron, Ginny, Hermione, Fred, George, and Harry out of the Burrow and to the hilltop, where they were to find a portkey and be transported to the Quidditch World Cup site at exactly 6 in the morning.

"Will you look at that," Fred spoke, as they trudged up the hill, taking in the views of the mountainous countryside and rolling plains. He was pointing towards a red gleam of light in the distance, the beginning of a beautiful sunrise, and a beautiful day. "Makes it slightly worth it to have to wake up at the bloody asscrack of dawn."

"Language, Fred." Arthur said mildly, but he was smiling. "Ah, nature, a kind of magic that cannot be expressed, shared by muggles and wizards alike!" He began to wax poetic about the idea that even Muggles had their own forms of "magic."

At the top of the hill, they had run into Amos Diggory and his son Cedric, who lived close by and were using the same portkey, which was an old boot.

"Ah, Arthur! How are you?" Amos spoke in a loud, booming voice.

"Never better, Amos. And you? Your son here?"

"Indeed," Amos ruffled his son's hair proudly. "Cedric here is taking his Apparition exams in a few months, so I figured we'd do things the traditional way. After all, taking the portkey is an experience quite wonderful, one that Apparition simply cannot replicate."

Mr. Weasley smiled. "That's what I've been tell my children all this time! By the way, this is my children Ron, Ginny, Fred, George, and their friends Hermione Granger and Harry Potter."

They all exchanged greetings. Ron didn't look too happy greeting the older boy, for having caught the snitch against Harry the previous year, when the Dementors had arrived in the pitch and caused him to drop nearly a thousand feet before Dumbledore saved him.

So they all held on to the dusty old boot in the middle of the field, and soon were transported to the Quidditch stadium site.

"Alright kids!" Arthur directed, waving goodbye to the Diggory's as they found their camp, with the name "Weezly."

As Arthur, Fred and George were setting up the inside of the tent and trying to start a fire, Harry, Ron, Ginny, and Hermione ducked out of the tent to go fetch some water, as Mr. Weasley wanted them to do things the "old-fashioned, Muggle way."

Walking across the field, they passed by an endless number of tents of foreign wizards and witches, the likes that Harry had never seen before. Hermione pointed excitedly at a group of Indian wizards huddling around what looked to be a magical flying carpet. "Look at that Harry! Just like in Aladdin!"

Harry nodded in agreement, ever since he entered the magical world, he had never ceased to be amazed by how it seemed every Muggle fairy tale most likely took their inspiration from something that actually existed in the Wizarding World. Ron just seemed bored as if he had grew up with flying carpets all his life.

They walked by some more tents – tents full of green and shamrocks, supporting Ireland (where they ran into Seamus Finnigan and his mom), and then past the Bulgarian camp, which was full of posters with the one and only surly face of Viktor Krum plastered all over them.

"Krum! He's my hero!" Ron excitedly cheered. "Well, my heart will always belong to the Cannons, but Krum is possibly one of the best seekers to play the game... and he's only 18!" Digging around his pockets, he bought a small figurine with a surly-looking Krum, and attached it on his clothing to show his support.

"Oh, he's a seeker?" Harry asked, curious himself. He always wanted to see how a real professional seeker would play.

Ron grinned, buying another figurine for Harry. "Here mate, count this as an early birthday gift!"

"Fine, fine" Harry put the figurine on his own shirt, laughing at his friend's enthusiasm.

Then they walked by some elegant-looking tents, and there was a group of French witches speaking very quickly, talking about some kind of "le tournoi" which Harry did not understand.

"And itz 'appening at 'Hogwartz this year, non?" One of the witches said.

The four of them stopped dead in their tracks.

"Excuse me," Hermione asked shyly. "What 'tournoi' are you guys referring to?"

The leader of those French witches, an absolutely gorgeous girl with alabaster skin and silvery blonde hair, she turned around and gave the four of them a patronizing look.

"What doez it matter to you, English girl?" She asked, derisiveness in her voice. "L'esprit de votre propre entreprise, hmmph!" (Mind your own business!)

However, her friend, who had sunlight blonde hair, seemed nicer. "Don't so rude, Fleur, zese English kidz should know, after all, it iz taking place at their school." She seemed to have noticed Harry. "And oh look, ze famous 'Arry Potter, what an 'onor! I've seen pictures of you in my textbooks. I'm Régine."

The rude French girl Fleur seemed to also be taken aback in surprise, as her eyes flickered to Harry's forehead. "Ze boy 'oo lived? I've heard a lot about you from my father. He is ze French Minister of Magic. I am Fleur Delacour."

She extended a hand, at which Harry shook, a little befuddled at her sudden change of attitude. "Nice to meet you. These are my friends, Ron, Ginny, and Hermione." Her hands were soft and nimble, she had the air of being supremely graceful, yet he could also feel that she was rather powerful.

Ron was blushing quite heavily now while Hermione just seemed annoyed, giving side glances at Ron.

"Would you be so kind as to tell us what is going on at our school this year?" Ginny asked.

Fleur gave them a haughty look. "Eet ez Le Tournoi de Trois Sorciers."

"The 'Triwizard Tournament?'" Hermione, being the bookworm she usually was, immediately explained for their benefit. "The last Triwizard Tournament occurred 200 years ago, it is a competition between the three magical schools of Western Europe, Hogwarts, Durmstrang, and Beauxbatons. Each school is represented by a champion who competes in three tasks, or challenges, over the course of the year."

"Are 'ou done yet?" Fleur asked, while the other French witches next to her giggled.

Hermione flushed and looked away. Ginny glared at the French witches for laughing at her friend. "So I'm guessing you witches are coming to our school this year?"

Fleur nodded. "Yes, friend of 'Arry Potter, we are coming to your school, and I plan to be the champion and win the Triwizard Cup for Beauxbatons, France, and my father!" She finished the last bit triumphantly.

There was a bit of silence as the others did not quite know how to respond to such a declaration. Ron looked as if he were going to say something, then turned pink and coughed violently.

"That's umm, great." Harry said, a bit awkwardly. "We look forward to seeing all of you then."

Fleur gave him only a slight nod, while Régine waved good-bye to Harry and gave him an unusually friendly smile. The other French witches merely ignored them and continued talking in rapid French.

"What a pompous… grrr!" Hermione sputtered, clearly still annoyed at Fleur's putdown of her earlier. "I hate people that are so elitist just because of their parentage."

"She seemed pretty nice." Ron said dreamily.

"Don't lie Ronald, we all saw you were smitten with her." Snorted Ginny.

"No I wasn't!" He stammered, blushing heavily.

Soon however, they ran into another group, that were if anything, even worse than Fleur and her friends.

"Well, well, if it isn't Potter, his Weasley servants and the Mudblood." A snobbish voice drawled, causing them to turn around.

Draco Malfoy, dressed in his usual preppy schoolboy's outfit, had sauntered up with his usual bodyguards Crabbe and Goyle.

However, this time behind him were two girls – one, a statuesque, curvaceous girl with platinum blonde hair, a look of arrogance and elitism on her face. She was listening with amusement to her friend, an aristocratic-looking brunette, who appeared to be making fun of some poor bloke's lack of size with two hands about an inch apart.

Harry narrowed his eyes, while next to him, Ron clenched his fists. The brunette's name was Sophia or something, a 6th year, while the blonde... it was Draco's older sister, Celine Malfoy, a sixth year Prefect and a chaser on the Slytherin Quidditch team.

While it was usually Draco and his cronies who bothered and pestered Harry and his friends, Draco's sister Celine was a downright bitch if one happened to encounter her in an empty corridor.

In their first year, Harry and Ron were trying to find their classroom when they ran head first into third-year Celine Malfoy and her friend, Sophia Montague. It was then that they were treated first hand to the sheer elitism and bitchiness exhibited by the self-professed Queen of Slytherin. However, she always seemed to reserve a special amount of attention for Harry himself.

"What are you doing here Malfoy?" Ron asked angrily.

"The better question is, what are YOU doing here, Weasley?" Draco retorted. "Attending the Quidditch cup? Shouldn't you be in your farm gathering pumpkins?"

Ron looked furious. "Ron's family happened to invite all of us to the Quidditch World Cup." Hermione replied, sticking up for her friend.

The blonde boy snorted. "The Weasleys invited YOU? I worry where you lot might be sitting, surely I hope it's not in the nosebleeds?"

The nosebleed seats at the Quidditch Stadium were those immediately next to the pitch – they were termed thus because one had to frequently crane their neck vertically in order to see the action happening above – and therefore were the most inexpensive.

"Hardly." Harry said, icily. "We're all sitting in the top box."

Celine turned her attention from her chatty friend, to the heated conversation occurring in front of her.

"Oh my, if it isn't Potter and his little friends." Celine smirked. "My father would be thrilled to see such esteemed guests sitting at the top box. Oh sorry, I forgot Potter, so sad you don't have a father?" She taunted, looking at Harry. Like Draco, she always seemed to save her worst insults for him.

"At least he doesn't have a Death Eater scum like yours." Ron spat.

Draco Malfoy looked furious, pulling out his wand. "You fucker! I'll show you-" Crabbe and Goyle rolled up their sleeves menacingly.

Celine put out a hand. "No need for that, Draco, where are your manners? This is getting interesting now."

Then, turning to Ron, she made an offer. "How about a little wager on the match, Weasley? Seems like you guys are Krum fans. Are you willing to bet on him?" She said, looking disdainfully at the Krum figurine that Harry and Ron had pinned on their shirts.

Ever since Harry's first year, he and Celine were fierce rivals on the Quidditch field, although as a chaser she was not nearly as bad as her brother in terms of trying to foul him.

Ron exhaled. While his brothers Fred and George were experts at sports betting, Ron himself didn't have much money. "Okay Malfoy, 1 Galleon on Bulgaria."

Celine snorted. "That's a waste of my time. How about 500 Galleons at 2-1 odds? If Bulgaria wins, I'll pay you a thousand. Unless... of course, you don't have 500 Galleons do you, Weasley? You don't even have 5."

Nearby, Draco and his friends guffawed loudly. Ron's ears flushed bright red.

"Ron, it's not worth it." Hermione said, glaring daggers.

Harry felt an inner rage boil. He knew from Fred and George that Ireland were the favorites this year, but 2-1 odds wasn't a bad deal. He couldn't let his friend be embarrassed like this.

"We'll take your bet on that." He said immediately, stepping forth. Ron's eyes widened.

Draco looked like he wanted to say something making fun of Ron's bank account again, but Celine put out a hand to stop him.

"My my, this is very interesting." Celine grinned, eyeing Harry predatorily. "But don't you think five hundred galleons seems a bit low between two ancient Houses as noble and wealthy as Malfoy and Potter?" Next to her, her brunette friend giggled.

Harry glared. "I don't have any interest in your games Malfoy. Take the bet or leave it."

Celine looked enormously pleased with herself. "Let's throw in an extra clause to make it more fun shall we? If Ireland wins, I get you as my slave for the entire day." Celine said, giving Harry a wink and smiling evilly.

"Wait, what?" He asked, not sure why she would add this to the mix all of a sudden. Hermione frowned as well.

Draco also looked at his sister with a surprised expression.

Celine and Harry had had a number of run-ins over the years, and to say that their relationship was quite interesting was putting it mildly. For some reason, she always happened to be trying to make him her personal servant, and her attitude towards him would oscillate rapidly from typical Malfoy snobbery to an almost sort of wanton flirting.

"Don't worry Potter. It's just stuff like carrying my books and whatnot. I have no interest in asking the Golden Gryffindor to do anything too... inappropriate." She said the last part lecherously.

Harry narrowed his eyes. "And what happens if I win?"

Celine shrugged. "You get Draco for a day."

Harry laughed. "I don't want your useless fucking brother."

"Fuck you Potter!" Draco snarled, ready to curse Harry.

"Ugh. Shut up Draco." Celine put a hand on Draco's arm and twisted it, causing him to yelp in pain. "God, why are you so fucking useless?"

Ron was now guffawing loudly behind Harry, while Hermione looked close to laughing herself.

"Fine." Celine huffed. "If you win, you get ME as your slave for an entire day."

Harry nodded. "Fine. Deal."

Ron and Hermione's eyes widened.

The two shook hands, her slender, soft hand clasping onto his seemingly just a bit longer than it needed to.

Celine winked at Harry. "I look forward to having you as my slave, Potter. I have quite a number of plans for you."

xXx

"Mate, you do realize what you just agreed to right?" Ron said as they walked away from the Malfoys. "Magical contracts like that are binding. If you lose, you really do have to be her... slave!"

Harry shrugged. "I don't care. We can't back down from the Malfoys. Plus, if I win, just the sight of her at my beck and call will bring her down a few notches especially in the Great Hall."