[quidditch gala, singapore] cruel intentions | gaius/hefin

Even though the view of the Capri harbor was a welcomed sight every morning, it was not long before the young heiress itched for the excitement of the social scene in London. Days spent in lavish leisure had given her a new perspective on her own troubles and had given her the space she needed from her family but she was still young and full of life; she was much too guileless to understand the comforts that solitude could bring to a pensive woman. Withdrawing completely from what had become the norm over the last couple of months was an interesting venture, but not one without difficulties. Genevieve found herself apparating back and forth between two homes, her inability to settle a physical representation of her vacillating heart.

The thought to attend the Quidditch Gala came to her earl one morning as she smoked one of those thin Russian cigarettes she had taken such a liking to since the time she had spent with @Nathalie Wilkins , her delicate fingers pressed against her temple as she attempted to will away a particularly maddening headache. Genevieve’s stance on Quidditch was more or less neutral, but  she was aware that the event would attract the sort of crowd that would guarantee her reentry into society. The thought to invite @Gaius Purcell , however, was a thought that came late in the afternoon, after one too many glasses of straight whiskey consumed in a peculiarly animated conversation with a close friend. The invitation had been extended in jest however deep down, Genevieve was taken with the idea of taking Gaius Purcell to such a high-profile event.

In the young heiress’ eyes, walking in with such a controversial figure would cement her position of illusionary power. Most impressionable young women such as @Meredith Howell daydreamed about being whisked off into the sunset by prince charming but exceptional women such as Genevieve conjured up fantasies of influence and control, commanding a room by the very connotation of being on the arm of such a notorious man. Absolutely exhilarating, she had decided.

Of course, Genevieve had never imagined that he would have agreed to such a thing. She could already imagine the field day the reporters would have twisting a story so vile it would miss the point completely. But the teenaged witch figured that the statement all publicity is good publicity applied in this case as well. While Genevieve could handle such treatment from the Prophet, she wondered if Gaius was ready for the spotlight so soon. The man had only been recently been released from Azkaban and based on the conversation from their last meeting, seemed to want to keep a low profile lest he incite the anger of his critics. It was a noble excuse, she assumed, but her curiosity could not be contained by things such as politeness. It was only expected for him to indulge her this once, particularly after making her shed tears the last time they had spoken while in Neroli. 

As expected of such a wealthy government, the Japanese Ministry of Magic had met her standards nicely; the theme of the décor appealing to her own constellation aesthetic and completed her dress divinely. Dinner was an interesting mixture of some of the delicacies of the island but the excitement of the conversation around was much more enticing than dinner. The two of them had had the pleasure of being seated close to Minister Murakami and a few other folk she assumed to be of political origin, though she did not care to catch their names. Unlike what her image might have suggested, Genevieve found most political conversations too boring to become engaged in and therefore deferred to her date, interjecting at key points to better pretend that she was listening. She was aware that at one point Gaius had been a Diplomat and as such probably found it much easier to interact with others than she might have originally imagined.

After dinner, she decided to pull Gaius along as she traveled to the other side of the room, watching with mild interest at the couples that wandered onto the dance floor as they walked around the perimeters of the hotel’s banquet hall. “You did say you enjoyed the gossip, Uncle,” she leaned over and said in a low voice, as the two of them walked around the room, smiling at foreign faces in the crowd that she might have been acquainted with. “You’ll find plenty of it, but as expected, we are probably going to be what everyone talks about by tomorrow’s breakfast,” she said in a matter-of-fact way, sheer pleasure evident in the haughtiness of her voice.  Genevieve was sure that she would wake up to a few dozen owls from close friends and family, wondering what it meant and why the two of them had appeared together. Never one to miss the opportunity to be as dramatic as possible, Genevieve would delay her response and keep her answers vague. The more people knew, the less interest they took and there was nothing that brought the heiress more pleasure than being the center of attention.

“Do you think they’ve branded you as the devious Hades taking advantage of me, the innocent Persephone?” she wondered quietly, her eyes glancing in the direction of a few women huddled together giving her judgmental looks. Genevieve distantly wondered what Gaius, a man of position and power, thought of the trivial battles between young women on the topic of social standing.

However, her train of thought on the intricacies of female relationships in the pureblood community came to a halt when Nils Nyström came over to say a few words. “Genevieve Grosvenor, the pleasure’s all mine,” she retorted when asked, momentarily distracted by the charm of the Swedish Minister of Magic. The photos in the Prophet did not do him any justice, she decided, for in real life he was much more attractive than she had originally imagined. All these new connections would come in handy she figured, and if she ever got a moment alone with Minister Nyström, she intended to thank him for the active action he took against the unjust imprisonment of her Uncle Gaius. His immeasurable kindness and great understanding had essentially brought back someone of great importance into the young witch’s like. No matter how sentimental that might have sounded, it was something worthy of praise.

As Minister Nyström turned towards the dancefloor, Genevieve’s eyes naturally followed until they reached the man she had been subconsciously avoiding all evening and the woman to whom the Swedish Minister referred to as Jessica. It was a scene that bothered her more than she wanted to admit, the playful and openly intimate manner in which the woman interacted with her…whatever they were at that point she was unsure…made her blood boil. Genevieve was no stranger to the many women in Hefin’s life but this was different, particularly the way in which he was not denying Jessica’s overtly flirtatious advances in the same manner that he had so unkindly refused her. Was it possible that @Hefin Howell  was indeed not interested in Genevieve Grosvenor but might have been interested in someone else? She refused to believe such a thing was possible.

Genevieve was not jealous, she decided, even as her hand clenched into itself and her fingernails pressed into the crescent-shaped scars in her palm. However when his eyes met hers, she was almost certain that the jealousy and panic was obvious in her expression. “When you’ve found yourself in Britain, do not hesitate to stop by Cheshire for tea, Minister,” Genevieve offered politely, with a charming smile of her own, “Why don’t we go back to our seats?” she suddenly suggested, thinking to slowly return back to a safer place and stay away from Hefin Howell.

When Genevieve had broached the subject of his attendance at that year’s Quidditch Gala in Singapore, in the role as her escort, Gaius had tended toward a polite refusal. In general he considered Quidditch nothing more than a distraction for the populace, a sport which at its highest levels had become corrupted by external money and pulled even further away from its grass-root origins. The best Quidditch players were nothing more than fashion models, with their antics off the field more often more well known than their on-field exploits, and certainly better publicised.

However, a cursory investigation into the event allowed him to discover that, in fact, this year’s gala would be held under the auspices of the Japanese Ministry, and hence had a direct connection to the Minister for Magic herself Murakami Reina. This changed things, and made the event slightly more political than it truly need be. Suddenly, Gaius’ interest was piqued.

The former Death Eater had entered September with something akin to a purpose at last; a drive. His role, as he saw it, at least temporarily, was to act as a disrupter. To rattle and to agitate from a distance. It had seemed that his interview in the Daily Prophet had already ruffled a few feathers back home, if one was to believe the sheer volume of editorials and letters vomiting forth from the gutter press. His release seemed to have caused a few agitations, and to continue turning the screw, a public appearance would naturally be the next step. However, Gaius would have considered such a display in England as slightly uncouth; nor would it have been particularly safe for him. Genevieve’s invite, on the other hand, offered him just the disrupting public appearance he required, and in neutral territory, to boot.

The effect upon Genevieve’s own reputation was something else entirely, however she seemed to welcome the slight edge of notoriety, and thus he was only happy to give her what she wanted.

He was unsure if it was as a result of Genevieve’s influence, or that of the Japanese Ministry, but Gaius and his companion had been seated at what could have passed for the political table - upon his right hand side sat Minister Murakami herself, and across the way sat several senior Japanese officials with several Swedish DIMC diplomats. A cursory examination of those present revealed a definite profusion of representatives of both Japan and Sweden.

The food had been exquisite, and Minister Murakami had been a charming conversation partner, and any hint of tension between her and Minister Nyström (perhaps the sort mentioned in various newspapers of varying quality) was completely absent. Genevieve had been quiet, perhaps uninterested in the somewhat staid and dry political conversation, however Gaius had been charming towards her, and when she suggested that they have a little wander about the garishly decorated hall, he gladly agreed.

The majority of the attendees appeared to be Quidditch players, and those associated with the various world federations. And so there appeared to be many starstruck guests wanting to have their photograph taken with their heroes from around the world; tall and athletic men and women standing and smiling awkwardly with their short and not so athletic admirers. Gaius, dressed in a midnight blue tuxedo, took Genevieve by her graceful arm as they crossed the room. “I do indeed enjoy the gossip,” he whispered back to her with a smile, “However Quidditch players are, unfortunately, not the most interesting people in the world.” He nodded in amused agreement with her comment. “Yes, by default we are most certainly the most interesting couple here. And I haven’t even played Quidditch in about thirty-five years.”

He was about to reply to her Hades comparison, when, aptly, of all people, Nils Nyström decided to interject into their little conversation. Naturally, in light of recent events, and their own clandestine meeting at the W9 conference the weekend previous, Gaius kept his words with the Swedish Minister for Magic very brief, as though they were two distant acquaintances meeting for the first time in many years, and allowed Genevieve to lead the interaction, much to her own apparent gratification.

Nils was not a man to waste time, and soon was off again, working the room. Gaius’ eyes followed the departing man, and naturally fell upon the fair head of Jessica Jonasson, who at this very moment seemed to be enjoying the company of an unusually tall Quidditch professional. Genevieve suggested returning to their seats, which now seemed rather dull in comparison to the spectacle before him. “Oh, but we have not said hello to everyone, Genevieve,” came his polite response, smiling ever so carefully, and before she could react he was leading her across the floor to the couple.

“Ah, Miss Jonasson, a pleasure as always,” he began, faire la bise applied expertly. “I must apologise to you for having to turn down your generous invitation to the W9 conference, however I’m afraid politics and I no longer mix particularly well,” and they shared a polite laugh together. “But I am being terribly rude. Please allow me to introduce my companion, Miss Genevieve Grosvenor, Magizoologist.” He turned to the tall young man, sizing him up with his eyes, before holding out a hand in greeting.
 
“And you must play Quidditch for a living, I presume?”

“Poor, unfortunate soul.” A passionately possessive and vicious Jessica Jonasson whispered as her hand trailed down his chest, the music stopping momentarily as the song ended, and their dance finalised as well. Her fingers trailed on his white shirt, nails digging in deep as she noticed nobody else than Genevieve Grosvenor trying to gain the attention of the Swedish Minister for Magic. Their eyes met for a second, but he turned his attention back to his partner, to whom Hefin smiled devilishly, taking Jessica’s hand into his own before she’d tear up his silk shirt with her perfectly manicured dark emerald nails.

“Perhaps she shall abandon Purcell for your beau.” Hefin teased her, gracefully wrapping his hand around her waist, as he elegantly escorted her away from the dance floor. His remark had managed to amuse his dancing partner, Jessica letting out a crystal clear laughter, her emerald green dress gently swaying as she moved to face him again, her hand tracing his jawline, and teasingly tapping his lips twice with her index finger. “Nils has a preference for blondes. Had he not, then I would be a brunette by now, dearest.” Her lips pursed in a nefarious smile, Hefin feeling thrilling chills going down his spine. “And, let’s be honest, Purcell is the one who’s in the spotlight, not her.” Jessica resumed, as Hefin picked up two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray, and handed one over to the Swede. “He’s the former prisoner who’s still got it.” Her eyebrow curved, as her sapphire blue eyes grew colder, and her gaze revealed further cruelty, as her hand arranged the edge of his jacket. “She’s so desperate, throwing herself at a man who lacks proper practice for years now.”

Hefin wanted to make a shockingly uncivil comment, but refrained, instead clinking his glass into hers and sipping from his champagne. “Didn’t she write you that perverted letter?” Jessica suddenly inquired, and Hefin gracefully cleared his throat. Miss Jonasson had indeed seen the letter in question, but mostly due to an unfortunate incident. Jessica and he had a meeting regarding a training camp between the Australian and Swedish National teams, to be held at the end of September, or beginning of October. It was during one of their meetings, in Hefin’s London office, that Jessica had accidentally seen the note on his desk, for he’d forgotten to place it in a drawer before their encounter. Nonetheless, it had been more than enough for the friendship between Jessica and he to become stronger. A solid and candid base was most important, after all. “Well, she moved on, obviously.” He revealed to his companion one of his most charming smiles, and the witch let out a girlish giggle as the blush in her cheeks became a bit rosier.

Their private moment had been however interrupted as the ones they were discussing joined them. Mr Purcell, dressed in a midnight blue tuxedo, was not even showing signs of having been in Azkaban until recently; Hefin was undoubtedly impressed. Genevieve’s own attire, however, was, as always, foolish, frivolous and fabulous. Perhaps a bit too revealing for her lack of curves; his thoughts trailed towards the stunning @Nathalie Wilkins, and how gorgeous she would look in the dress the heiress was wearing. Truthfully, Miss Wilkins would actually look better with no dress on at all, but this was neither the place nor time to think of such appalling ideas.

Jessica had surfaced a glacially appealing smile, and gracefully turned her cheeks for Gaius to kiss, letting out a soft laugh at his remark regarding the W9 conference. “You have been dearly missed nonetheless, Mr Purcell.” She replied, wrapping her arm around Hefin’s, as if it belonged there. The former Hufflepuff indulged her, for he was there on business, and his girlfriend had not accompanied him. Consequently, as his business partner, and new friend, he supposed Jessica’s hand did belong there; still, Hefin would have hoped that it would have gone in Genevieve’s hair, and a fight over the handsome Swedish Minister would start. Now that would definitely make the entire event worth it.

His gaze moved once more towards Genevieve, as Gaius introduced her. Hefin smiled nonchalantly, his air of indifference surfacing. However, as the diplomat held out his hand in greeting, Hefin took it, firmly shaking Gaius’ hand. He let out a chuckle at the remark; it was not unusual for individuals of that branch, foreign affairs, to be condescending towards Quidditch players, despite them admitting that the game and such events facilitated many of their negotiations. Retrieving his hand, Hefin pressed it over his heart and his peacock-blue waistcoat. Before he could make the cheeky remark that his activities dwelled in the business of pleasure, Jessica, perhaps anticipating his urge for rudeness, had introduced him.

“Mr Purcell, your sense of humour is absolutely delightful.” She said, between two giggles. “But he does look rather different in person, does he not? The Australian prince, Mr Hefin Howell, illustrious heir of the Walker and Rudd businesses.” Hefin understood now that she was not presenting him, but more showing off with her own associate and precious gemstone added to the Swedish Ministry’s successful professional affairs.

“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Hefin added, as Jessica interrupted again, this time around her malicious cruelty surfacing. “And also a great satisfaction on my end to finally meet the infamous Genevieve Grosvenor.” The battle was commencing; Hefin wondered if it would get physical. He definitely hoped so, as he took a sip of his champagne in anticipation.

“In the end, not anyone would write to our respectable Mr Howell here quite the explicitly erotic letter. Bold, I must say.” As the words escaped Jessica, Hefin cleared his throat in surprise. “And to think you already have such a wonderful man as your date…” Jessica wouldn’t stop, and instead she merely feigned concern for Mr Purcell as she sighed. “I feel so bad for you, dear sir. You deserve much better. You both do.” She pressed herself against Hefin’s arm, offering a refined yet icy smile to Genevieve. “Did you not bring that letter to give it back to her, my dear heaven? Such a gentleman he is, protecting a lady’s honour where there is none. Such chivalry.” Jessica ended, and conveniently noticed that her Minister was in need of her aid. “If you’ll excuse me.” She pressed her lips against the Quidditch player's cheek, leaving traces of her lipstick, light nude chocolate with a bit of glitter, before taking her leave.

For the first time, a woman aside from his sister had left him completely speechless.