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Harry Potter And The Game of Death

Level 1

Chapter Twenty-Four: Dominance of the Sexes

Lucius stormed into his private booth in high dudgeon. His gentleman's cane clicked sharply against the solid stone tiles, its distinctive sound acting as a metronome to his thoughts as he scanned the room's posh interior for any unwanted surprises. "Come, Draco. Stop dawdling and let Parkinson handle things."

"Uh, yes, father. But about your conversation with Black earlier, shouldn't we be discussing…"

"There will be no discussion, boy, until I have come up with a plan for you to follow," Lucius said with a snap.

His son may have been a dutiful boy, but when it came to cleverness the child was sorely lacking.

Draco flinched at his father's sharp tone. "Y-yes, father. I understand."

"Good. Then go to Parkinson's daughter. I am sure she will be more than happy to entertain you on the subject of your upcoming duel against Potter in the meantime."

"Oh. Oh! You're right, father." Draco's fearful expression brightened. "I'm sure Pansy will be impressed; she can't stand Potter any more than me, and I have yet to tell her anything on the matter."

"Yes, yes. Now leave me while I ponder."

Lucius settled into a posh chair, putting his cane to one side and taking off his leather gloves as his mind whirled.

His plan to solidify his position as Magical Britain's foremost practitioner of Dark magic was about to be put in place. Morgan and Yaxley would be reporting in several hours to say whether their first two assignments had been a success. But the overall situation was delicate, and his current plan alone would not bring Lucius the success he so desired. Not when recent events had made his social position somewhat shakier than was comfortable.

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

Added on to that was his failed gambit to take control of the Daily Prophet through Goyle, while the consequences of it falling into the hands of Narcissa's sister were proving to be far more irritable than Lucius had anticipated. Having reporters dogging his steps whenever he was in public, their once fawning entreaties replaced with pointed questions, was terribly unpleasant and distracting.

That series of events was the driving force behind why he and Draco were at the World Cup so earlier than he had long planned. What with rumours swirling through high society about some of his less than legal business ventures – undoubtedly spread by the harlot herself to make him lose even more face – 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 House Malfoy stood stronger than ever.

His earlier message to that detestable Sirius Black had come about because of this need.

Should Draco win a public duel against Potter, the boy's future position within Pureblood society would brighten. It would also serve to solidify Lucius' existing control on his peers and demonstrate the ascendancy of House Malfoy.

The only issue was that it all hinged upon Draco's performance. And given that the child had little to no choice of beating Potter in a duel from what Lucius had observed, he would need to take creative steps to assist his son.

With both Parkinson and his daughter nearby, the best method to do was readily available.

Lucius looked up, searching for both Parkinsons.

He found Hugh Parkinson helping himself to the liquor cabinet; the portly man's girth was shaking like that of a walrus as he struggled to uncork a large bottle of sherry. Meanwhile, his delectable daughter, Pansy, was currently next to Draco. The girl's vapid eyes, common amongst certain lines of the well-bred, followed the boy's every movement as her rosebud lips spouted endless praise and adoration in Draco's direction.

Perfect. For the ritual Lucius had in mind to succeed, the girl would need to be absolutely besotted with Draco.

Lucius steepled his fingers and carefully watched the girl interact with his son for several minutes to confirm his initial observation. By the time Hugh Parkinson sat down in the chair next to Lucius' own, he felt certain enough in his judgement to proceed.

"Per your request, Hugh, I have thought over your proposition at great length," Lucius said quietly. "After much deliberation, I believe we may have a place for you in the upcoming bit of unscheduled… entertainment… we have planned for the general populace."

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

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? Galleons? Rare goods? I am rather well off, but my reach is not nearly so vast as your own."

Smiling at the man's obvious flattery, Lucius cocked his head back and closed his eyes. After several seconds spent feigning deep thought, he looked back at Hugh and shook his head. "No. The sorts of payment offered by those who came before you are no longer an option."

"But of course. Those who come first are rewarded more than those who come late."

"Indeed. Though the rewards for both are quite substantial."

Fear was useful in a pawn, but greed could be manipulated just as easily. Lucius preferred to use both and tailored his words to achieve the precise effect he so desired.

"Seeing as how I am not so great as our fallen Lord, Parkinson, I would never ask for a vow of loyalty from you. But I find myself asking what should I request of you? Perhaps something that money cannot normally purchase? Or perhaps a special favour of some sort, one enforced by a magical binding?"

Magical agreements between Purebloods which could not be broken were rare. They were generally reserved for the Mudbloods or half-bloods forced to serve under their betters. Asking it of another Pureblood would normally be a grave insult, but Lucius knew it would not be taken as such right now. Besides, mentioning it as an option would only serve to make Lucius real goal more easily attainable.

Sure enough, Parkinson fell for it. "I would of course be amenable to either option. You are a gentleman of standing and impeccable breeding, Lucius, and I have total trust in your word. But I am uncertain as to what sort of favour I could ever give to you that would be of equal worth to what you are offering me, and I doubt that any of my meagre treasures would be of value to you."

"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 in the agreement between our two Houses, we would change her status to that of a consort or concubine."

Lucius opened his hands wide in seeming apology. "I know she is your firstborn, Hugh, and that I am requesting much of you, 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 have. Possessing a wife and at least one concubine would go a long way 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 from Draco's arm. A smile was on the boy's face as the two laughed together at some unknown joke or turn of phrase.

Lucius hid a smile of his own at the serendipity of the moment. He had laid the trap as well as he could. It was now up to Parkinson's own greed to persuade the man to walk into it.

After a minute of silence, Parkinson turned to face Lucius once again.

The man's pudgy face broke into a cruel smile as he held out his hand in agreement. "You raise excellent points. 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 lineages."

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 once the opening ceremony has concluded. It's better to keep things such as this between we Purebloods rather than involving those despicable Goblins."

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

"An excellent analogy. Might I borrow it to describe my wife at tomorrow night's dinner?"

"Of course, my dear man, of course!"

The two men shared a laugh as they toasted their agreement and settled in to watch the Quidditch Cup's opening ceremony. Minister Fudge stepped onto a ceremonial platform to great fanfare, but Lucius' thoughts were very much elsewhere.

With Parkinson's assistance secured, his son would soon become strong enough to defeat Potter without breaking so much as a sweat. Word would spread amongst their peers that Lucius was still a man to be respected and feared, and those who sought to drag him down would be forced to lower their heads.

As for poor little Pansy… well, the girl's matters were of no concern to Lucius. If she were lucky, then she might someday bear Draco's heirs. And if she were not so lucky, then at least she would bear the noble Malfoy family name.

It was a good sight more than most women deserved.

Far away from the shores of Britain was a beautiful mansion.

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

All these sounds and more washed through one of the open windows, where they were ignored by two women currently locked in a battle of wills.

Fleur Delacour gave an annoyed huff as she stared at the woman seated in front of her. Ms. Peterson, a grey-haired woman whose personality was as dull as her taste in clothing, was her tutor in the English language. And while Fleur may have approved of the necessity of learning it, considering she would spend much of her next school year living in the country for the upcoming Tri-Wizard tournament, she did not enjoy learning the woman's ridiculous language.

English was a dull and stupid language wholly unbefitting of the term lingua franca. It was filled with contradictory rules, as well as words which were used in ways that had no similarity to their origin. None!

Learning it was a nightmare only made worse by the woman teaching it.

"Try it again, Ms. Delacour. But this time please enunciate the words written on the paper both clearly and precisely. Do not slur and mumble them as you are prone to doing."

The woman's harsh words raised Fleur's back, but she pushed her annoyance down with a force of will and looked down at the paper in front of her. The words written on it were easily understood and appeared so simple that even a child could say them.

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. "That is wrong again, Ms. Delacour! The word 'the' has a 'th' in it. There is no letter 'z' in its spelling. While 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 I have spent 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. "Zee leetle boy 'oo..."

"No. No. No!" Another hard 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 boy! 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 rotten bitch knocked out and floating out of the window before she 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 various 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 left the room. She would need to discuss this with her mother before the woman heard of it from anyone else.

As Fleur walked, the opulent halls around her might as well have been the plain white walls of a mental institute for all the attention she gave them. The portraits of her ancestors, proud and powerful 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 the study Fleur was still brimming with anger. She barged into 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.

The woman's glorious figure, a model of beauty renowned throughout the wizarding world, raised slightly at the disturbance.

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 actively kneading her flesh to pause mid-massage and leave the room.

Both gave Fleur's mother a warm smile and obeyed, politely nodding their heads to Fleur in passing.

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 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 own 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 the furious diatribe which was bubbling up from within, Appolline cleared her throat and spoke in flawless, American accented English. "Well, my darling flower, I can guess the reason as to why you have interrupted my personal time. 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 knew that no one else in the house was willing to disobey her.

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

With all the grace and control she could muster, Fleur mastered herself. She 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."

Leaving the table, Apolline sat in a cushioned chair situated nearby. She crossed one of her creamy white legs over the other as she leaned into its soft embrace. "Now, considering you are supposed to be in your tutoring session for another half an hour, I assume 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's name."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, momentary 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… uncon… phaw!" 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 little flower, but English is the current language of commerce and diplomacy in the world and 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 session with Ms. Peterson. I get the feeling I may need to take actions of my own to stop her from tarnishing our family's good name when she wakes."

Fleur grimaced. 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 Fleur could not identify before it was gone. But the powerful Veela never changed her expression in any other way. She merely shook her head in obvious disappointment upon Fleur reaching the conclusion of her tale and gave a slight 'tsk'.

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

Fleur winced at biting the 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 elsewhere, but individuals who desired to harm them were not without their own support. And from what Fleur had heard, magical Britain was far worse than her own nation in this regard.

"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, you have in the past demonstrated a keen ability to know what path you should take."

Ruffling her stunning mane of silver-blonde hair, Appolline gave a deep sigh. "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 because of your… impetuous… 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; your free time will be better spent on other pursuits. Such as a little trip I have planned for you and your sister to take alongside your fathers and myself."

A trip? Curious as to what might be important enough to interfere with the daily training sessions she had started with Madame Maxime – after the English government had officially decided to drop that silly rule prohibiting teachers from assisting their students before or during the competition – 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 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 feel 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 view the final match alone, but with the dismissal of Ms. Peterson I think 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. She had no love for Quidditch and her mother knew it. "Non! I do not weesh to go to eet. Zat eevent eez for fools and morons, and 'az no redeeming qualitiez to eet. I do not weesh to go!"

Appolline gave an amused laugh.

"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."

"Bu-"

"Be quiet and listen." Fleur's mother pushed her arms further inward, causing the woman's already spilling breasts to overflow as she cut her daughter off. "Furthermore, I would suggest that you follow your sister's example and make friends with one of the local students during our time there; any information you can gather from them on your potential competition from Hogwarts could be well worth the effort. The school may not be the equal of Beauxbatons, but it has a long history of producing witches and wizards who leave their stamp on the shape the world."

When Fleur opened her mouth to continue protesting, her mother's resulting sharp look caused her to reconsider.

Instead, Fleur settled for giving an unladylike snort of disbelief. "I weel try to do what you suggest, maman, but I do not know about zee making oof friendz. I 'ave found zat most peoples my age to be both seelly and petty. And I doubt zat zis… zis 'ermione person eez as nice as Gabby 'as mentioned to us; Gabby can often bee too kind for 'er own good."

"Perhaps. Or maybe it is one of your sister's greatest strengths, one which you do not share and thus do not understand."

The woman 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; I really do require their ministrations. 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 silly rules aside, Professor Dumbledore's strange expulsion 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, 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 any 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.

As for Fleur herself, her own situation was quite different.

Between her mother's reputation, her own beauty, and the Allure which she had inherited just as strongly as any full Veela, the result was Fleur's continual banishment to the edges of whatever social circle 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 and grandmother had done. Nor did Fleur desire to lose herself to the company and pleasures of women as her mother had in her own youth.

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. Someone 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 her heart to someday find him.

But for now, she did as her mother had bidden 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 was weak, simple, and easily led.

A/N: Quite a contrast between the two viewpoints, was there not? I intend every character in this story to express different aspects of the human condition. Because I love it when different viewpoints gather and mix or come into conflict with one another.

Take Appolline and Lucius as examples. In this story, Lucius will embody cruel and selfish ambition, and a complete lack of morals. He will do anything he views as necessary to advance his own goals. Appolline, meanwhile, is a proud and beautiful woman dedicated to the success of her misunderstood – and mistreated – people. But like Lucius, she too will do anything she views as necessary to advance their cause.

Both also have sexist views of the opposite gender and see their own as the superior. These two views in particular will collide later on once Fleur begins to join Harry's life, because even the hero of this story, who is a rather selfless and caring individual, will have some warts of his own in this area.

Until Next Time,

Elsil