Dangerous Games
Chapter 4: Dangerous Games
“Malfoy, party of six,” Lucius drawled boredly as Draco and his friends disentangled from one another on the grass below.
“Ah, of course, Mr. Malfoy, of course,” a pair of tired and grumpy-looking wizards greeted. One had a large gold watch, keeping time of the arrivals, and the other held a huge roll of parchment and a self-inking quill. Both men were dressed as Muggles, though as far as Draco could tell, they’d done a rather poor job of it. Even Muggles had somewhat of a sense of taste. What these two put on was just ridiculous—a tweed suit and thigh high galoshes, and a kilt and poncho. He didn’t even pay attention in Muggle Studies most days and still knew none of that was inconspicuous.
“About a quarter of a mile’s walk over there, first field you come to. Site Manager is Mr. Roberts,” the second man with the parchment said, gesturing to his left.
The small group set off across the empty moorlands, the mist just beginning to lift for the morning. After about twenty minutes, they all had started to marvel at Narcissa’s forethought in her shoe choice, when a small stone cottage appeared through the last wisps of misty fog. Behind, shadows of hundreds of tents swam into view, littering the hillside all the way up to the darkened wood beyond.
A man stood in the doorway of the cottage, assessing the tents. Hearing their approach, the Muggle man turned to take stock of the newcomers.
“And who are you?” The man said somewhat agitatedly.
Taken aback, by the man’s demeanor, Lucius scowled. “Malfoy,” his lip curled. “I take it you’re Mr. Roberts?”
“As a matter of fact, I am,” the Muggle man sneered right back, taking a step forward. “See here, I run this campsite, and have the right to refuse anyone—“
A wizard in plus-fours appeared out of thin air next to the front window. “ Obliviate! ” He said sharply, pointing his wand Mr. Roberts.
Instantly, the man’s eyes slid out of focus, his scowl disappearing, replaced by one of dreamy unconcern.
“A map of the campsite for you,” Mr. Roberts said placidly.
“Yes,” Lucius snatched the map from the man, and stalked away, his nose higher in the air than before. The wizard in plus-fours apologized profusely to Narcissa before allowing them to continue on to their campsite.
“I’m terribly sorry, Mrs. Malfoy. Been having a bit of trouble with that one. It doesn’t help that—“
“Lucius! Dear old, Lucy!” A voice called as the man it belonged to casually stumbled toward them. “How many players do you think will get knocked off their brooms by Bludgers, eh? A wager? Anyone?” The man looked around at the teenagers who all just stared blankly back at him as he whipped out a small pad of paper full of betting ledgers.
“Draco, this is Ludo Bagman, I’m sure you recognize him from his days on the Wimbourne Wasps,” Lucius said tightly.
“Er—yes, Mr. Bagman, wonderful to meet you,” Draco fumbled awkwardly to shake the man’s hand.
The wizard in plus-fours shook his head, turning and trudging back toward the cottage where the Muggle man was standing, facing the stone wall of the cottage blankly.
“Isn’t it quite the event?” Ludo puffed his chest, “I don’t know when I’ve ever had more fun! It’s been quite the process to organize such a thing, you know, but I do enjoy a good sporting event—live for it!”
“Surely you’ll be glad to be finished with it though, Baggy?” The corners of Lucius’s mouth turned up at the moniker, clearly seeking petty revenge for being referred to at ‘Lucy’, as he certainly wasn’t listening to Bagman’s answers.
“Oh, no, so much more to do! I’m sure you remember what’s coming up at Hogwarts!” He grinned conspiratorially.
Lucius rolled his eyes, “as a matter of fact, I do. I believe the children, however, were not supposed to find out until they returned in September.”
“Ah, nonsense! What’s a bit of anticipation going to hurt?” Ludo winked at Draco. “The contracts are all signed and it’s official, right?”
Lucius grew more and more annoyed with each passing word from the man.
“Might I have a moment to conduct some private business with you, old friend?” Lucius pulled Ludo away, a firm grasp on the man’s shoulders should he try to run away from such a conversation.
“Yes, yes of course,” Bagman smiled nervously, absentmindedly fussing with his yellow and black robes.
Narcissa marched the rest of them up the hill to their “tent”. They passed several tents in which the owners clearly were trying to blend in with the Muggles, however, they had still added chimneys and weather vanes.
“What d’you suppose Bagman was talking about?” Theo asked, intrigued.
Draco just shrugged, “who knows. Father seems keen to keep that information to himself for the moment at least.”
“Well, find out sooner or later anyway,” Blaise commented, “if it’s happening at Hogwarts, right?”
At last, they came to a halt in front of what was easily identified at the Malfoy tent. It wasn’t really a tent, but more like an extravagant striped silk confection, nearly a miniature version of a palace. A few of the peacocks from the Manor were tethered at the entrance and Draco had to roll his eyes at his father’s ridiculous requests. The things were ostentatious even without the castle of a tent behind them.
“Go on then,” his mother smiled at them. “Pick out your rooms and get your things settled. The field should be just on the other side of the wood there,” she pointed to the dark looming trees.
Draco led them all into the tent, not having used it in ages, he’d forgotten just how large it actually was inside. If it looked like a small castle from the outside, it was to scale with a real one on the inside.
“It’s bigger on the inside!” Blaise chuckled to himself, looking around at the rest of them as if it was some sort of joke they should’ve understood. Seeing their quizzical faces, he shook his head and laughed even harder at his own private joke once he realized none of them got it.
Pansy quickly climbed the spiral staircase in the corner, sending Blaise a forlorn look, and the boys took the three rooms down the front hall.
“What was that all about?” Theo waggled his eyebrows.
“Nothing,” Blaise shoved the lanky brunette away, “she just has a hard time falling asleep lately. She’s really worried her father’s going to sell her off to the highest bidder.”
“That’s bollocks,” Draco scowled at the wall. He’d forgotten Pansy’s problems in lieu of his own as of late. He felt like a complete failure of a friend, not just to her, but Blaise too.
“Hello?!” A voice called from the entryway, bringing Draco out of his downward spiral, before he could fall too far down.
“Daph?” Theo called back.
They could hear the nervous smile in her voice as she called back, “and guests!”
The boys casually strolled back into the front room of the tent. “And who do we have here?” Theo questioned, a light hearted smile on his lips, but his possessive eyes were zeroed in on Daphne like a hawk.
This can’t be good.
“Well, you all know Anthony,” she said sweetly, her hand firmly grasped in his. “And these are some of his friends from Ravenclaw: Cho Chang, Marietta Edgecombe, and Roger Davies.” She pointed to each with her free hand as she spoke their names.
Roger gave them a short nod, while Cho gave them a shy ‘hello’ and Marietta just blushed profusely.
“Welcome to our humble Slytherin hovel,” Draco joked, stretching an arm out to show off what was definitely not humble nor a hovel.
The Ravenclaws all grinned appeasingly, except Marietta who laughed a bit too loudly, her face turning an even darker shade of red as she avoided eye contact with him.
“This is lovely,” Cho smiled warmly. “Would anyone care to wander around the campsites before we have to head up to the stadium?”
A chorus of “sure” and “definitely” rang out, and the nine of them exited into the sunlight.
“So what’s the plan,” Draco whispered to Theo, but before he could get an answer, Marietta had hooked her arm in his.
“It’s so lovely out here, isn’t it?” she commented as they passed a tent with three stories and several turrets.
“I suppose, in a way,” he replied dryly. It was nice to be out in the fresh air, and surely they would see witches and wizards from around the world. That could be ‘lovely’ as she had put it.
The two continued on in awkward silence, and Theo kept turning around to quietly laugh at them every few paces, though Marietta hardly seemed to notice, or if she did, care.
They took to commenting on the tents they passed, giving them ratings as though they were school marks. “Oh, that one is definitely an Exceeds Expectations,” she said giddily pointing out the next tent, complete with its own front garden attached. It even had a birdbath, sundial, and fountain.
“I think I’d give it an O,” Draco said in awe as he watched the trickling water flow through the fountain. The flower choice was impeccable as well—dahlias and peonies, two of his mother’s favorites.
She scoffed, “really? It’s nothing compared to yours, but I guess if we’re excluding your own, I suppose I could be a bit lenient.” Marietta held on to his bicep with a vice grip that was becoming increasingly more uncomfortable with each comment she made.
“Er—right—so, I don’t think I’ve seen you around at Hogwarts,” he tried to make small talk.
She giggled, “I shouldn’t think so. I don’t play Quidditch and that seems to be all you focus on. I’ve certainly noticed you, though.” She winked at him, glancing away quickly as she giggled again.
Theo and Blaise both burst into laughter ahead of them, but neither turned around to see just how red Draco’s ears were turning with embarrassment. What does this girl want from me?!
This continued on as they passed more and more tents. He even tried to pull his arm away from her death grip at one point to gesture to a tent where two little girls were riding small toy brooms. It hadn’t worked, and only spurred her on to squeeze tighter. Surely, he would lose all blood flow eventually, then she’d have to let go, right? It would be a medical emergency.
The witches and wizards around them were starting to stir for the morning. Some were covertly conjuring fires to cook breakfast with, while others were giving the Muggle method a try, skeptically striking matches. There were African wizards in all white robes mingling with middle aged American witches camping next to each other. The sign above the witches’ tent read The Salem Witches’ Institute.
Several tents were filled with excited chatter in every language imaginable, and although none of them could understand what was being said, they knew it was about the upcoming match.
“So, Anthony, you’re rooting for Ireland then?” Draco asked, calling to the front of their group where Roger, Cho, Daphne and Anthony led the pack.
“Yeah, mum said if we even thought about cheerin’ on Bulgaria she’d permanently change our skin green,” Anthony chortled.
“Who’s everyone else got to win?” Theo quickly piped in.
Cho was the first to answer, clearly growing more excited now that Quidditch was the main topic of conversation. Then, Draco remembered—Cho was the Seeker for Ravenclaw’s team, of course she’d be excited about the World Cup.
“I have to go with Bulgaria,” she said with much more gusto than her initial ‘hello’. “Krum’s the best Seeker there is,” she insisted matter-of-factly.
Marietta leaned onto Draco’s shoulder, turning to speak directly into his ear, “I guess I’ll have to cheer on Bulgaria then. I do love a good Seeker,” she whispered in a sultry tone.
Draco nearly choked on his own saliva. He sputtered and coughed until she finally released her hold on his arm, and the swoosh of blood as it all came flowing back into his now ghostly white limb nearly made him pass out. Marietta patted his back soothingly, and he glanced around for a distraction—anything really.
Roger was discussing Ireland’s strengths and top of the line players like Lynch, but none of the snakes were listening. It seemed everyone but Roger, Cho, and Anthony were quite content to focus solely on the train wreck crashing behind them.
Light reflected off two circular bits of glass a row of tents over from them—an unmistakable pair of glasses in a sea of strangers. “What about Potter?” He asked breathlessly, still trying to clear his throat.
“What?” She stopped patting his back and shoulders, looking at him quizzically.
“Er—“ he cleared his voice again, “Potter. You said you like Seekers and he’s a pretty good one when he doesn’t cheat—but don’t tell anyone I said that—the part about being decent, ‘cause I’ll deny it!”
A catlike grin was plastered on her face. “Oh, Draco, don’t be silly. Potter’s got nothing on you.”
Theo stopped mid-step to bend over, clutching at his sides as he wiped away tears from his intense, silent laughter.
“Yes, Draco, why so modest? Aren’t you always telling us how overrated Potter is?” Blaise chimed in with a Cheshire grin.
“And how underrated you are?” Pansy cackled as she linked her arm with Blaise’s.
Draco could’ve avada’d all of them at that moment. Useless, the whole lot of them.
They passed the Irish tents—or what they could see of them—they were covered in a thick growth of shamrocks. So much so, they appeared more as small, unusually shaped hillocks rather than tents. One particular tent was occupied by none other than Seamus Finnegan and his family, all of which scowled at the Slytherins as they passed by. Always one to stir the cauldron, Theo shot them a two-fingered salute in passing, throwing his head back in laughter as Finnegan leapt from his seat in front of the tent with the spritely agility of a leprechaun, only just held back by Dean Thomas.
Continuing down the path, they spotted the Bulgarian flag fluttering in the breeze overhead—the white, green, and red whipping back and forth with each gentle gust.
Instead of greenery, each tent was plastered over with the same poster of none other than Viktor Krum. His surly face and heavy black eyebrows were unmistakable and Blaise was suddenly very uncomfortable. It was Draco’s turn to have a laugh.
“Oh look, it's Krum!” Draco called out to Blaise and Pansy. The latter’s eyes were lingering just a tad too long on the burly muscles of the Seeker on the posters.
Blaise grumbled inaudibly.
“He looks a bit grumpy,” Pansy said, trying to ease Blaise’s mood a bit.
“Grumpy? Who cares what he looks like, he’s only eighteen . EIGHTEEN! You’ll all see tonight, he’s absolutely fantastic on a broom!” Cho raved.
They kept walking until they reached the far corner of the field. “Well, this is me, but I’ll catch up with you all later? There’s a big party in that tent over there,” she pointed to a long and plain white tent the next row over. “Doesn’t matter what team wins, they just love a good party,” she smiled, waving to the group as she rejoined her family.
On their way back, they passed an enthusiastic Oliver Wood chatting with Ernie Macmillan from Hufflepuff. Their voices were nearly indistinguishable from the chatter rising from all sides, but Draco could’ve sworn he heard Wood say he’d been signed to Puddlemere United.
“Do you think Theo still fancies Daphne?”
“What?” He was jolted back to the girl clinging to his side again.
“I said, do you think Theo still fancies Daphne?” Marietta casually asked again, examining the tents around her scrutinously instead of making eye contact with him as she’d been trying to do all morning.
“Why would you say that?” He asked cautiously.
Marietta beamed up at him, “oh no reason. Daphne and Tony seem so happy together, I’d hate for something to muck it all up, you know?” She said with a saccharine glance under her lashes.
“Well I’m sure that won’t happen,” Draco said awkwardly. He honestly didn’t have the faintest clue as to what Theo was up to, but so far, he hadn’t stepped a toe out of line that morning.
Seemingly placated for the time being, Marietta dropped her line of questioning, but not her monopoly on Draco himself—even he didn’t have autonomy over his movements as she clamped down on his arm once again. Thankfully, it didn’t seem to take quite as long to get back to the Malfoys’ tent as it did to wander as far out as they had. Daphne, Anthony, Roger, and Marietta reluctantly bid them farewell, the latter very reluctantly, before walking back to their own tents.
The teenagers set up seats outside the mini palace, watching a parade of wizards go in and out for meetings and dealings with Lucius. Cuthbert Mockridge, Head of the Goblin Liaison Office was first after Bagman quickly disappeared muttering a ‘good luck’ and ‘must be off now’. Arnold Peasegood, an Obliviator from the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, was next, when they were joined by several familiar faces Draco would rather forget. Walden Macnair strolled in as if he owned the place, but didn’t come out once Peasegood had gone.
Knowing nothing good could come from Macnair’s presence, Draco tried to lean back toward the opening of the tent to see if he could hear anything inside, but his father had cast a strong Muffliato and he couldn’t make out a single thing. Distracted, he nearly fell off his chair trying to get out of sight of the next two wizards approaching at a leisurely pace. They were definitely not there to meet with Lucius, but Draco dreaded being spotted by none other than Saul Croaker. He was walking with a colleague, it appeared; another Unspeakable, and the pair were so deep in conversation they hadn’t even glanced up from the bit of parchment they were studying until they’d nearly passed the campsite entirely.
At the last second, Croaker shot a distasteful look at the peacocks in front of the tent, but if he saw Draco, he didn’t let on. Thankfully he passed quickly, and Draco clambered back to his makeshift seat.
“What was that all about?” Blaise mumbled around a slice of bacon he was eating.
“Croaker. The bloke from the Ministry that gave me the Time Turner last year. He hates my guts,” Draco explained.
“What’d you do?” Pansy scoffed, as though he was obviously the culprit.
“Nothing. Look like my father, I suppose,” Draco shrugged, not letting her snarky attitude bring him down.
The atmosphere around them was electric. So much magic in one place, and with such excitement flowing through everyone, it was a wonder the whole field didn’t just burst into shooting stars or catch fire. He chose to soak up as much of the buzzing around him as he could. If it actually worked, he’d never know, but he placed his palms on the earth on both sides of him, willing the energy to flow into him—through him. He could’ve sworn he felt tingles in his fingertips.
If there weren’t so many people around, he’d have transformed into his Phoenix and taken flight…although he had some reservations about doing so considering his dream the previous night.
“Mippy has prepared lunch if you would all join us inside,” Narcissa called to the four of them.
At the mention of food, Theo pounced from his seat and into the tent, far ahead of Draco, Blaise, and Pansy. By the time they caught up, Theo was already seated, eyeing the dishes laid out before them hungrily. Before anything could be served, however, Lucius strolled in, trailed by Macnair.
“Draco, my boy!” the latter boomed, clapping a heavy hand on his shoulder, reminiscent of not long ago at the Death Eater gathering.
While the man had no knowledge of Draco’s sentiments, he certainly knew Lucius’s. His father’s face contorted into nothing short of contempt. Fury blazed in his eyes as he glared at the fat hand resting on Draco’s robes.
“Macnair,” Draco acknowledged the man politely, but only just barely.
The man beamed, missing the subtext completely, “good to see you and yer friends here! I expect you’ll be joining us and the gents this evening?” His raised brow seemed innocent enough, but knowing what they the man had planned gave Draco pause. Does Macnair really expect me to join in on the raid tonight? Father would never allow it…certainly not. Not to mention Granger’s here somewhere…can’t leave her vulnerable…they’d torture her for sure…kill her maybe…she’d never see it coming…
Draco’s hesitation must have come off as deference to Lucius as his father stepped in to smooth things over. “Draco is barely fourteen. I doubt the Dark Lord would approve of including a child in such an…event.”
Lucius Malfoy’s words were chosen carefully, as precise as a Slytherin deemed proper. Though the man had been distant and detached all summer, he certainly didn’t want Draco and his friends to brazenly volunteer for this ‘gathering’ without even knowing what it was. It was his way of revealing the truth—it would be a Revel.
“What about you Nott? I’m sure your old man has no qualms about you joining?” Macnair jeered.
Theo had taken the stilted conversation as distraction enough to fill his plate with any foods within reach without drawing too much attention to himself. He currently had a mouthful of pasta as every eye landed on him. “Wha—?”
Thankfully, Draco’s mother stepped in, “Oh, Walden, you know Ted can’t stand to have Theodore around. The boy’s a nuisance, really. We only put up with him to keep Ted from ending his own family line. It would be such a shame to see another line of the Sacred Twenty-Eight disappear from our pureblood legacy.”
Narcissa’s eyes were as cold as her words. Any semblance of love she had ever shown to Theo. They all knew it was a false bravado, but the words were no less detrimental. Theo’s head slowly hung in shame, his shoulders curling in on his chest. No one moved to comfort him. This was a test and they all had their parts to play—Lucius had already put them in enough danger as it was by denying Draco.
“Ah, yes…shame really,” Macnair mumbled sarcastically; always the outsider in their version of the world. He eyed Theo closely nonetheless, before re-assessing the table.
“Shall we eat?” Narcissa gestured to the empty seats and Macnair took one across from Lucius and next to Pansy. His mother’s eyes tightened a fraction at the choice but said nothing.
Draco sat on his father’s right and Blaise across from him. The table was near silent except for the clinking of silverware on plates—even Mippy was silent as she served the dishes and refilled glasses.
“More wine, elf!” Macnair commanded after he’d finished his fourth glass.
Narcissa pursed her lips for an instant, but quickly switched to a demure grin. “Walden, dear, you wouldn’t want to be so out of sorts you miss the match!” She tinkled a girlish laugh, batting her lashes at the man.
Lucius sat rigid and frozen, choosing to ignore the display next to him. Turning to the ‘guest’, his father plastered on a ridiculous smirk, “I daresay we should wrap things up. The match will be starting soon and there will be plenty of time for celebrating once we’ve collected our winnings!” Lucius slapped his hands down into the table, rising from his seat.
“Winnings indeed…quite right!”
At the same moment Macnair boomed a laugh, Pansy shrieked uncomfortably from her place next to him, inching to the other end of her chair and as close to Blaise as possible. It was suddenly clear what sort of game they were playing—a dangerous one.
Macnair’s deep bellow echoed against the interior of the tent. “I love it when they make some noise,” he grinned deviously, “save the screaming for tonight.”
Blaise, to his credit, remained stock still, eyes focused on the wine glass in front of him, though his grip on the glass nearly shattered it in his palm. Macnair stood, his eyes staying on Pansy as if undressing her right in front of everyone. Licking his fingertips clean, he finally turned and strode out of the room, Lucius stoically following behind him, while everyone else remained still as statues, not daring the repulsive man to return too soon.
“They is gone, Mistress,” Mippy declared, popping into the room.
Blaise’s glass shattered. Pansy broke into sobs, clutching at his chest as he wrapped her in a protective embrace, his bloodied hand still embedded with shards of glass. Narcissa hurried to hold Theo who was now shaking in his seat. Draco sat, still unmoving, watching everyone he loved most get shredded to ribbons, and somehow he was the lone survivor.
Draco could hear Blaise’s increasingly violent threats growing in volume. “I swear to Merlin, if he so much as looks in your direction again I’ll carve his eyes out with a rusty spoon!” His fist coming down hard on the table spooked Pansy into another fit of hysterical sobbing. Catching his mistake, Blaise rubbed gentle circles on her back with his unbloodied hand, while Draco healed the other so he could cradle her head against his chest. “ Shhh , I’m sorry, Pans, I’ll take care of it okay?”
Meanwhile, Narcissa was cooing in Theo’s ear about how she didn’t mean a word of it. She hugged him close, calling him her second son, and promising she would never send him away or regret taking him in.
Tears welled in Draco’s own eyes. This was his family—a strong family—one that should never have been vulnerable to someone so pathetic and useless as Walden Macnair. Was this what they would be reduced to now that the Death Eaters were reforming? His mother a servant-like hostess, Pansy an object to be abused? What of Theo and Blaise? An outsider with no father and a disowned heir? And what was he? The next crowned prince—though not for long it would seem…the mutinous intentions practically vibrated off of Macnair, and he certainly wouldn’t be the only one. They would be out for blood. All of them.
Narcissa stood, wiping a stray tear from her cheek. “Get changed for the match.” When none of the teenagers moved to obey, she grew stern, “It will only be more suspicious if any of you don’t attend. You’ve sulked in here long enough. Pansy, we will discuss tonight’s events later, just you and I.” With that they were dismissed.
As his mother walked to her own bedchambers, Pansy stood and grabbed her wine glass, still full from dinner. Tossing it back, she swallowed every last drop before taking Blaise’s as well. This time, Theo finished his own in time with her.
“Pans, I don’t think—“ Blaise tried to say.
She bit back viciously, “don’t think what? That a bit of alcohol will help me forget a perverted, grown man just shoved his hand up my skirt in front of everyone? Yeah, I think I know that, thanks!”
“Pansy, I didn’t—“
“That’s right. You didn’t. None of you did.” Her eyes locked onto each of theirs individually. “You can all kindly fuck off now, thanks.” She stormed out of the room, and they could hear her shoes clanging against twisted iron stairs.
…
Draco and Theo decided to forego the Bulgarian attire as it seemed Blaise had had a worse day than they did. Opting to not support any team, Draco dressed in the black shirt and trousers he had packed, and the three boys met Pansy at the bottom of the stairs. She descended in a short black pleated skirt, and blood blouse, not paying any of them an ounce of attention.
“You look lovely, dear,” Narcissa commented, to which the younger witch merely nodded in thanks before exiting the tent where Daphne and Anthony were to be waiting for them.
“Draco?” His mother held him back from the group. “Your father would like for you to join us in meeting the Minister for our seats. Once the formalities are over with, you can rejoin your friends,” she squeezed his shoulder before walking out of the tent herself.
The large group began the ascent up the graded hill to the wood. The sun was setting, and Draco couldn't help thinking it would make the perfect backdrop to find the Snitch, especially with the bright lights surrounding the pitch reflecting off its gold shell.
The Ministry had finally given up on putting a stop to the random displays of magic that had been kindling throughout the day, and the excitement was so thick in the atmosphere it was palpable. Every few feet another salesman would pop up, holding trays or manning carts filled with merchandise of every kind. Luminous rosettes for fans of both teams, in their colors, squealed the names of the players. There were Bulgarian scarves with roaring lions emblazoned on them, and pointy Irish hats adorned with dancing shamrocks. Miniature models of Firebolts that flew and of the players themselves were set out together, while another cart had hung flags from both countries that sang their national anthems.
Draco didn’t spare much thought for the trivial products he passed, not really caring who actually won, he just wanted to watch a good match and experience the Cup for himself. Turning back, however, he found Theo sporting one of the green shamrock covered hats, and Blaise scowling at a tiny version of Viktor Krum that Pansy had scooped up and was preening in her palm.
They passed the seemingly last cart piled high with cheap omnioculars. “ Ten galleons?!” Blaise scoffed, “not for that rubbish!” They each checked they had their own Omnioculars tucked away safely before continuing to march through the crowd of spectators.
A gong sounded through the woods, and green and red lanterns flared, lighting the paths to the stadium.
“It’s time!” They cheered eagerly.