The Quidditch World Cup
The excitement in the air was *palpable*.
Even before they had arrived at the stadium, Harry could *feel* the energy buzzing around them—thousands of witches and wizards from all over the world, gathered for one of the biggest events in magical history.
Draco, seated beside him in the Malfoy’s private box, looked the *epitome* of composed, despite the fact that Harry *knew* how much he had been looking forward to this.
“Who are you betting on?” Harry asked, nudging Draco’s side.
Draco scoffed. “Is that even a question? Bulgaria’s got Viktor Krum, the youngest Seeker in a century—”
“But Ireland’s Chasers are *brilliant*,” Harry argued.
Draco rolled his eyes. “Yes, but a great Seeker is far more valuable than flashy Chasers.”
“Oi,” Ron interjected from nearby, leaning forward with a scowl. “Are you two seriously arguing about this *again*?”
“Not our fault you don’t appreciate strategy, Weasley,” Draco said smugly, earning an exasperated sigh from Hermione, who had been trying to ignore their bickering.
Lucius, seated beside Narcissa, cleared his throat, drawing their attention. “Regardless of the outcome, the real spectacle is the event itself.”
Sirius, sprawled lazily in his chair, snorted. “Says the man who put *a lot* of money on Bulgaria winning.”
Lucius arched a cool eyebrow. “I merely *invested* in the superior team.”
Beside him, Snape muttered, “Superior arrogance, more like.”
Harry grinned, leaning back in his seat. It was strange, how *normal* this felt. A year ago, he never would have imagined sitting beside Draco at a Quidditch match, surrounded by people he cared about.
Draco suddenly leaned in close, his breath warm against Harry’s ear. “If Krum catches the Snitch, you owe me a kiss.”
Harry’s stomach *flipped*.
“Fine,” he said, playing it cool. “And if Ireland wins?”
Draco smirked. “Then you owe me two kisses.”
Harry huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “That’s not how bets work, Draco.”
“It is if I say so.”
Before Harry could respond, the sound of roaring cheers filled the air. The match was about to begin.
And despite the electric excitement of the game, Harry found himself just as captivated by the boy beside him as he was by the Quidditch in the sky.
---
The match had been *incredible*.
Ireland had dominated with their Chasers, but in the end, Krum had caught the Snitch—securing Bulgaria’s dignity, even if they had lost overall.
Which meant…
“I *told* you,” Draco drawled smugly, tilting his chin up as they left the stadium. “Krum caught the Snitch. You owe me.”
Harry huffed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, yeah. A kiss. But technically, Ireland *won*.”
Draco smirked. “So I get *two* kisses.”
“That’s *not* how bets work,” Harry grumbled, though his stomach did an embarrassing little flip.
Sirius, who had overheard, clapped a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Just give in, kid. Malfoys *always* twist bets to their advantage.”
Lucius, walking ahead with Narcissa, gave an approving nod. “A wise observation, Black.”
Draco shot Harry a look of pure *triumph*, which only made Harry want to *hex* and *kiss* him in equal measure.
Unfortunately, before Harry could say anything witty in return, the excited hum of the crowd began to shift—murmurs turning into uneasy whispers, whispers into *screams*.
“Harry,” Hermione grabbed his arm. “Something’s happening—”
Then, all at once, chaos *erupted*.
Masked figures emerged from the darkness, their wands alight. *The Dark Mark* soared into the sky, an eerie, twisting green against the night. Spells shot out in all directions as wizards and witches fled, panic spreading like wildfire.
Lucius immediately stepped in front of Draco, wand raised, while Narcissa pulled him back. Sirius did the same with Harry, his eyes dark with *fury*.
Snape, beside them, hissed under his breath, “Death Eaters.”
“Move,” Lucius ordered sharply, his usual coolness replaced with something *cold* and *dangerous*. “Get back to the Portkey *now*.”
But it was already too late. The group had been spotted.
And Harry—who had faced Voldemort, fought off a Basilisk, and survived more than he ever should have—felt his heart *plummet*.
This wasn’t just a normal attack.
This was a *message*.
And somehow, Harry knew—it was meant for *him*.
---
The chaos of the World Cup attack still lingered in the air as the group returned to the safety of Malfoy Manor. The tension was thick—Sirius pacing angrily, Snape brooding in the corner, Lucius and Narcissa speaking in hushed, urgent tones. Harry could still feel the phantom chill of the Dark Mark in the sky, the echo of screams ringing in his ears.
But before anyone could properly *process* what had happened, there was yet another commotion—this time, at the Ministry camp.
Barty Crouch Sr. stood before a small gathering of wizards, his face a mask of cold fury as he addressed a trembling house-elf.
Winky.
Harry had seen her before, trembling at the Quidditch World Cup, apparently left behind to guard a seat that had been empty for most of the match. But now, she was on the ground, wringing her hands, sniffling miserably.
"You *disgraced* me, Winky," Crouch spat, his voice as hard as steel. "You allowed my family’s name to be dragged through the mud with this shameful display. I cannot allow you to remain in my service."
With a sharp flick of his wand, the bond between them *broke*.
The force of it sent Winky tumbling backward, her small frame shaking violently as a loud wail tore from her throat.
Harry clenched his fists. He wasn’t sure *why* this was upsetting him so much—maybe it was the way she sobbed as if her entire world had just collapsed, or maybe it was the way Crouch dismissed her like *trash*.
Winky was not just a house-elf to Crouch. She had been *loyal*. And he had discarded her without a second thought.
The gathered wizards murmured amongst themselves, but no one *intervened*.
And then—
"I’ll take her."
Draco’s voice rang out, clear and steady.
Everyone turned.
Harry stared at his boyfriend, who looked perfectly composed, though there was a sharp glint in his eyes.
"You?" Crouch scoffed, his lip curling. "A *Malfoy*? What could you possibly want with a house-elf like this?"
Draco’s expression didn’t change. "A house-elf who was discarded unfairly? One who has spent her life serving without question? Sounds like the kind of loyalty that *should* be rewarded."
Lucius raised a brow, but he didn’t argue. If anything, there was a flicker of something close to *approval* in his gaze.
Crouch sneered. "Do as you please."
And just like that, he turned his back on Winky, walking away without a second glance.
Winky hiccupped, blinking up at Draco in astonishment. "*Master Malfoy… claims Winky?*"
Draco smirked slightly. "Well, I *can’t* leave you with *him*, can I?"
Harry felt an odd, warm sensation in his chest. Draco *always* acted like he didn’t care about things, but *this*—this was different.
Winky hesitated for only a moment before throwing herself at Draco’s feet, sobbing anew. "*Master Draco is kind! Master Draco is good! Winky will serve!*"
Pansy, standing nearby, gave an impressed whistle. "Well. Didn’t expect *that* today."
Blaise smirked. "Crouch looked ready to curse something."
"Which was incredibly satisfying," Will Solace added, grinning.
Lucius placed a hand on Draco’s shoulder, giving him an appraising look. "An interesting decision, Draco."
Draco only shrugged. "It was the *right* one."
Harry, still watching him, couldn't stop the small smile from creeping onto his face.
Yeah.
It *was*.
---
The group returned to Malfoy Manor, the tension from the World Cup still hanging over them. Draco, however, remained calm, his expression unreadable as he walked ahead, Winky trailing behind him, sniffling and wringing her hands.
Lucius and Narcissa led the way into the grand sitting room, where Snape and Sirius were already waiting, clearly having *just* stopped arguing before the group arrived. Snape’s arms were crossed, his expression unimpressed, while Sirius was slouched on the couch, looking ready to fight someone.
Harry had barely stepped inside before Narcissa’s sharp gaze landed on Winky.
"Draco," she said smoothly, clasping her hands together. "Are you going to explain why there is a *former* Crouch house-elf standing in our home?"
Draco only lifted a brow. "Because she’s *ours* now."
Narcissa blinked. Lucius narrowed his eyes slightly but said nothing.
Sirius, however, let out a low whistle. "You *claimed* her?" His eyes flickered toward Harry, a knowing smirk curling at his lips. "What is it with your boyfriend and saving strays?"
Draco scoffed. "Oh, shut *up*, Black."
Before anyone could say more, Winky let out a loud wail. "*Winky will serve Master Draco well! Winky will be good! Winky will—*"
"*Enough*," Draco interrupted, sighing. "No more wailing. You’re not a slave, Winky. If you’re staying here, you’re not going to throw yourself at people’s feet every five seconds."
Winky looked *horrified* at the very suggestion. "But Winky *must* serve!"
Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. "Fine. Serve. But without all the crying."
Snape gave a slow, approving nod. "Surprisingly responsible of you, Draco."
Draco sniffed, flipping his hair over his shoulder. "I *am* a Malfoy, after all."
Harry watched the entire exchange with an odd warmth in his chest. He knew Draco could be dramatic, arrogant, and completely oblivious to flirting, but he also had a kind of quiet *care* about him—one that he rarely showed outright.
Lucius finally sighed. "Well, I hope you *do* know what you’ve gotten yourself into, Draco. House-elves are not so easily trained to break habits."
Draco smirked. "If I can handle *Harry*, I can handle Winky."
Harry huffed. "*Oi*—"
"He's not wrong," Pansy muttered.
"Not at all," Blaise added.
Sirius chuckled. "*Definitely* not."
Harry groaned and dropped into a chair, dramatically throwing his arm over his eyes. "Betrayed. By my *own* friends."
Draco rolled his eyes before walking over and settling himself onto Harry’s lap like it was the most natural thing in the world. "*Oh, hush,*" he murmured. "You love the attention."
Harry peeked up at him, heart doing a little flip.
…Yeah.
He really did.
---
The end of summer came quicker than anyone expected. Soon, they were boarding the Hogwarts Express, settling into their usual compartment. Draco had taken his usual spot—Harry’s lap—despite the abundance of free seats. At this point, no one even questioned it anymore.
"I can’t believe we’re finally getting back," Pansy said, stretching her legs out across Blaise and Hermione’s laps. "I swear, if they try to make us take Ancient Runes and Arithmancy *immediately*, I’m hexing someone."
"That’s a great idea," Blaise said, completely deadpan. "Hex the professors on the first day. That won’t backfire at all."
Pansy kicked him.
Meanwhile, Ron and Hermione were deep in a discussion about what *exactly* the big announcement at Hogwarts was supposed to be.
"You don’t think it’s about the Triwizard Tournament, do you?" Ron asked, his voice hushed. "Dad mentioned something about it when I was home, but he wouldn’t say much."
"I don’t see what else it could be," Hermione said. "It makes sense. Hogwarts, Durmstrang, and Beauxbatons all meeting for a tournament—it would be a historical event."
Harry hummed, resting his chin on Draco’s shoulder. "Malfoy, your father’s on the board. Any clues?"
Draco snorted. "Please. If my father tells me anything, it’s only because he *wants* me to know." He tapped a finger against his temple. "But… let’s just say he wasn’t happy about it."
Ron perked up. "Why not?"
"Because," Draco drawled, flicking a piece of lint off his sleeve, "people tend to *die* in this tournament."
There was a beat of silence before Will let out a low whistle. "Well, that’s reassuring."
"Brilliant," Harry muttered.
Nico, who had been leaning against the window, suddenly spoke. "So, if this *is* the Triwizard Tournament… does that mean someone *here* is going to compete?"
That was the question none of them had an answer to.
---
Hogwarts was buzzing with energy as they entered the Great Hall, students whispering excitedly about the guests who would soon be arriving. Harry felt an odd mix of excitement and dread, though he wasn’t sure why.
He barely paid attention as they ate, though he did notice Draco stealing bites of his food, much to his amusement. But the real moment came when Dumbledore finally stood, signaling for silence.
"As you all know," he said, his voice carrying across the hall, "this year, Hogwarts has the honor of hosting a legendary event… The Triwizard Tournament!"
Gasps and excited murmurs broke out all around the room.
"But, as thrilling as the tournament is," Dumbledore continued, his expression growing serious, "it is also dangerous. Incredibly so. For this reason, only students of age—seventeen or older—will be allowed to put forth their name."
Harry relaxed slightly at that. *Good. No chance of anyone getting into unnecessary danger then.*
Draco scoffed beside him. "What a disappointment."
"You *wanted* to compete?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow.
Draco smirked. "Of course. I would’ve *won*."
Harry chuckled, shaking his head. "Sure you would’ve."
But then, a few days later, everything went wrong.
Because somehow, some way, *Harry Potter’s name was pulled from the Goblet of Fire.*
---
The next morning, the entire school was buzzing with whispers.
Harry had barely stepped into the Great Hall when hundreds of heads turned toward him. Some were openly staring, others whispering behind their hands. The Gryffindor table was particularly loud, with Ron sitting stiffly, looking *furious*.
The Slytherin table wasn’t much better. While Draco sat right next to Harry like always, the other Slytherins were divided. Some were smirking, enjoying the chaos, while others looked irritated—whether at Harry for the attention or at the situation itself, he wasn’t sure.
Pansy leaned closer, speaking in a hushed tone. "People think you *wanted* this, you know."
Harry groaned, shoving a piece of toast into his mouth. "Because *obviously* I’d want to be thrown into a deadly tournament for fun," he muttered sarcastically.
Draco scoffed, crossing his arms. "The entire thing is absurd. Who *wouldn’t* want their boyfriend to be forced into mortal danger against their will?"
Blaise chuckled. "If anyone could pull it off, it’d be you, Potter."
Harry rolled his eyes. "Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence."
Before anyone could reply, the mail arrived. Owls swooped down, dropping letters and parcels onto students’ laps. One particularly aggressive-looking barn owl slammed a *Howler* onto Harry’s plate.
Draco raised an eyebrow. "Not even breakfast and you’re already getting hate mail?"
With a sinking feeling, Harry ripped open the Howler.
"**HARRY JAMES POTTER, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!**"
Harry winced as Mrs. Weasley’s voice shrieked through the hall.
"*You could have DIED! You should have let someone older take part! How could you be so reckless?* Oh, Harry, I thought we raised you better than this—"
The letter burst into flames, leaving behind a thin wisp of smoke.
The Great Hall was silent.
Then, someone *snorted*.
Harry turned to see Draco biting his lip, shoulders shaking.
"Are you—are you *laughing*?" Harry gaped at him.
Draco *wheezed*. "I'm sorry, I really am—but she just *scolded* you like a *child*! That was hilarious."
Blaise smirked. "I mean, she *is* kind of right. You *could* die."
Harry groaned, dropping his head onto the table. "You lot are *the worst*."
Nico patted his back. "We know."
---
After breakfast, Harry was making his way toward Defense Against the Dark Arts when someone fell into step beside him.
"Hey, Harry!"
Harry turned his head and blinked. "*Percy?*"
Percy Jackson grinned. "That’s me."
Harry exchanged a confused glance with Draco. "Uh… hi?"
Percy casually shoved his hands in his pockets. "So, about this whole tournament thing—"
Harry narrowed his eyes. "*What* about it?"
Percy tilted his head, looking almost *too* innocent. "Oh, nothing much. Just thought I’d say, you know, if you ever need help, I’ve got experience with life-threatening competitions. You could say it’s my specialty."
Draco scoffed. "And *why*, exactly, would you help *him*?"
Percy shrugged. "Because I think he’s cool?"
Draco *gasped*. "*Excuse* me?"
Harry barely suppressed a snort. "I don’t know whether to be flattered or suspicious."
Percy grinned. "Both. That’s usually the right answer when I’m involved."
Draco crossed his arms. "If you think you can just waltz in and steal *my* boyfriend, you’ve got another thing coming, Jackson."
Percy held up his hands in surrender. "Whoa, chill, Malfoy. I’m just saying, if you need strategy tips, I’m your guy."
Draco narrowed his eyes. "We'll see about that."
Harry sighed. "*Great*. Another *dramatic* person in my life."
---
By the end of the day, it was obvious that things weren’t going to settle down anytime soon. Gryffindors were angry that Harry had seemingly stolen their glory, Slytherins were divided between supporting their own and *hating* the attention he was getting, and Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs were just *staring*, probably wondering how Harry managed to *accidentally* get himself into yet another mess.
But as Harry flopped down onto the couch in the Slytherin common room, Draco immediately climbing onto his lap like it was his *throne*, he couldn’t help but sigh.
"This year is going to be *insane*," he muttered.
Draco hummed. "Yes. But at least *I* will be here to keep you sane."
Harry wrapped his arms around Draco’s waist, resting his chin on his shoulder.
"*You* are the cause of half my insanity."
Draco smirked. "And yet, you *love* me."
Harry chuckled, pressing a kiss to Draco’s temple. "Yeah. I do."
No matter how crazy things got, at least he had *this*.