Monsters by Nightfall

When Potter finally caught up to them they were already at the arena, walking up the endless steps to the Top box. Draco's eyes flicked from the purple carpeted stairs, - contrasting beautifully with his black dress shoes - to the people around. All this noise, colour and smell was a little overwhelming, even to his dimmed senses but shifting his focus back onto the purple stairs made it seem a little easier.

Arriving at the Top box at last, - the people had become less and less the higher they had climbed - Draco was surprised when there were a lot more people than he had anticipated. They had arrived relatively late, so that even the Minister of Bulgaria was already present.

Draco's father, glad to avoid further contact with Black and Lupin, had already started up an animated discussion about the upcoming game, while Draco's mother seemed quite at home, conversing with her cousin, although she made a show of disapproving with whatever Black said, whenever someone looked at them funnily.

Despite the many visiters of the Top Box, the Weasley family, a fleck of red hair and dirt stained clothing, made up a large percentage of them, scurrying around like a bunch of filthy stray dogs in a magestic castle. They even had their little mudblood friend Granger with them. And of course, Potter immediately gravitated towards them.

Nothing else to do, Draco stayed transfixed on the scene. Oddly enough the Chosen One even seemed to strike up a conversation with a house elf who sat not too far from them. Probably a place holder of sorts. A pity if you didn't command enough respect to be able to seat yourself wherever, simply because of your blood status, like the Malfoys.

With how firmly the Weasleys were already seated, they seemed to be their own placeholders. Pathetic.

House elves looked rather similar to each other, but something about the scent of this one, gave away that it was one of Crouch's.
Barty Crouch.
An Unpleasant man.
A judge, as far as Draco recalled. He had overseen his father's trial back after the first war.

Of course Draco didn't remember his fathers trials, but he'd heard whispers in his fathers study. Barty Crouch didn't quite seem like a Death Eaters' favorite. Although a sorted Slytherin, a light magic sympathizer.

His son on the other hand, had been a great asset to the Dark Lords cause before Igor Karkaroff had ratted him out for his own freedom. No sense of loyalty. Of course it had been everyone for themselves, after the Dark Lords demise. At least his father said so.
But what did a judge like Crouch do here?

--

With all the hussle and bussle around Draco, it wasn't hard to go under in the crowd, in an attempt to avoid Potter and his Weasles.

Instead, Draco stepped up to the railing looking down at the enormous Quidditch field beneath. The Ministers Box, as the highest point of the stadium, was the perfect place to overlook the hundred thousands of witches and wizards slowly, one by one, taking their seats underneath. In an attempt to look human, Draco unpacked his binoculars studying a few individuals amused.

With the box's situation in the excact middle of the two golden goal posts, it felt to Draco, like he was almost part of the game. He couldn't imagine what it would be like to watch an entire match from this vantage point. The golden light, which surrounded every crevice of the stadium, shone a soothing tone and let the noise of the people around dimm to a low simmer.

Perhaps a charm?

Draco set his eyes on the blackboard opposit them; he recognized a few of the advertisements - they were sqribbled on ghe blackboars magically, before being replaced by others - from the back pages of the daily prophet. All garbage most of the time. Who needed a magical stain remover if they were a powerful wixen able to do it themselves? Or had houseelves to do it for them? Ridiculous.

Looking down at the field below - it looked smooth as velvet from up here - Draco began cataloging the scents around him. The dimming rune still stood strong underneath his shirt, but with all the people around, the mixing scents were getting to him. So perhaps a little order would help.

Having walked up with most of the guest attending, other than the Weasleys, there were only so many scents left to sort through.

The Weasleys, all carried similarly repulsive odors, making it easy to catalog. One of them, however, curiously carried an interesting note of smoke, that Draco would deny to find enticing.

The few Ministry officials were easily catalogued as well. Mist smelled like expensive deodorant and old paper, from being surrounded by the same encironment most days. The Bulgarian Minister had probably visited his team already, given the grassy smell he was emitting.

And then there was another strange one. Not a Weasley, far too noble a smell for that, but definitely not a minister either, not noble enough.
It was obscured too. Like a spell had been set on it to hide it's origin. It was still there though. Draco felt the person's presence too. Heard their blood pumping when he really focused on it.

Before he could zero in on it, however, Draco was called to his parents side, joining them at their seats, where his father was talking to Minister Fudge.
"...or our son, Draco?"
Draco's father introduced him, just as he arrived to silently slide into his place on his father's right. Potter, who stood next to Fudge and the Bulgarian Minister, tried catching Draco's eyes, but Draco stubbornly smiled at the Ministry officials instead.

"How do you do, how do you do?"
Minister Fudge smiled, bowing to Draco's mother, not bothering to grace Draco himself with his attention.

Rude.

"And allow me to introduce you to Mr. Oblansk - Oblansk - Mr. - well, he's the Bulgarian Minister of Magic, and he can't understand a word I'm saying anyway, so never mind."

At least Minister Oblansk seemed kind enough to honor Draco with a smile. He was way more stylish than Fudge anyway; He wore black velvet robes, trimmed with gold. He looked more intelligent too. Almost like he did know exactly what the British Minister of Magic wss saying, only acting like he didn't to amuse himself.

"And let's see who else - you know Arthur Weasley, I daresay?"
Fudge directed at Draco's father. Draco was glad that he hadn't been there the last time Lucius Malfoy and Arthur Weasley had met. The only thing he knew was that there had been a fight at Florish and Blotts' bookshop in the summer before Draco's second year, and after seeing his fathers damaged and hateful face afterwards, he didn't really want to know more.

"Good lord, Arthur," Lucius taunted softly.
"What did you have to sell to get seats in the Top Box? Surely your house wouldn't have fetched this much?"

Draco had to stiffle his laughter, at the face the Weasel was trying, and failing, to hold back.
Fudge, of course, swept up in his own head, carried on normally, not having heard a word. No wonder the Bulgarian minister was amusing himself.

"Lucius has given a very generous contribution to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, Arthur. He's here as my guest."
A proud smile made it's way onto Draco's face, while Mr. Weasley murmured some false niceties.

Suddenly a familiar ex- criminal swept in placing himself, as always next to Potter.
"Oh and of course, Mister Black. He's been quite the celebrity as of recent."
Fudge laughed nervously unsure who to turn to in his embarassment.
Draco would be embarrassed too if he had hunted a criminal for a year only find out the criminal had been innocent all along. He liked seeing Fudge fumble.

"He's one of my personal guest as well. Of course accompanied by his...partner Mr. Lupin."
It was odd seeing a grown man turn as red as Sirius Black did at this moment. Flustered was too light a word to describe the struggle portrayed on the man's face. Fudge all the while carried on like he didn't hear the Black heir's silent protest at the bold classification of his relationship with the werwolf - Fudge probably really didn't listen.

"You might know him as the falsely proclaimed Prisoner of Azkaban. With all the ruckus last year, an invitation to the greatest game of the year was the least I could do."
Fudge graced Black with another apologetic smile, eager to move onto other topics.

It almost seemed like a blessing when Ludo Bagman, the commentator entered the Top Box hastily, stopping Fudge from making an even bigger fool out of himself.
With a few last greetings, Draco was swept away by his parents to their reserved seats, placing himself between them, not daring to look back at his classmates, who were surely looking at him.

"Ladies and gentlemen...welcome! Welcome to the final of the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup!"
Under screams and clapps from the wixen underneath, the Blackbord before them turned into a huge scorebord showing BULGARIA: 0, IRELAND:0.

"And now, without further ado, allow me to introduce...the Bulgarian National Team Mascot!"
Roars and applause accompanied a hundred Veela onto the field.

Veela were rare creatures in England. At least in the forbidden forest. Draco had read their blood tasted just as amazing as they looked at first glance. But despite their moon-bright skin and their white gold hair, they were just too humanoid for Draco's taste. Although, looking through their facade Draco could see glimpses of their real form shimmering through. Their bird like heads and those scaly wings seemed more frightening than beautiful now.

Knowing a Veelas way, Draco politely averted his eyes and focused his hearing on the heartbeats around, to not be captivated by their performance, as some of the other guests were - including Weasley and Potter who had both jumped up, ready to throw themselves down onto the field beneath in an attempt to impress the magical creatures.
"And now," Ludo Bagman continued; his voice reverberating from every possible surface.
"Kindly put your wands in the air ... for the Irish National Team Mascots!"

This, Draco had to see. Leprachauns were always a blast. And tasty too.
Golden coins began raining from the sky while a rainbow formed itself in the middle of the stadion, the little bearded men emerging. Most of the crowd didn't seem to watch anymore however, too busy retrieving the coins from around them.

Pathetic. Every little child knew that Leprechaun gold didn't last.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen, kindly welcome - the Bulgarian National Quidditch Team! I give you -."
Bagman began counting down names, all the while the corresponding players zoomed into the arena on theur broonsticks adding up to a flickering pattern in Griffindor red. At the name of their Seeker Krum, the stadion, as well as a few in the Top Box, seemed to go wild.

"And now, please greet - the Irish National Quidditch Team!"

Similar to the Bulgarian Team, now an array of other players emerged, shining in a tasteful Slytherin green.

"Lynch!"
Draco screemed the Ireland's Seeker's name animatedly with the other half of the crowd. Even his parents beside him seemed to get a little excited now. The noise, was a little overwhelming but still enough to cope. And all the adrenaline in the Vampire's veins made him not care as much about his surrounding.

This was awesome! Watching with his Binoculars, Draco followed the introduced referee onto the field.
Within seconds of bludgers, quaffle and Snitch being freed, it was already hard to follow the game.

A definite change to Hogwarts Quidditch was the speed with which everything was handled. Players were flying from one end to another in a flash of green and red on Ireland's brand new Firebolts or their Bulgarian counterparts.

-Nothing compared to the speed of a firebold, however. And the Irish chasers were so good as well, easily outflying their Bulgarian persecutors.-

And when Ireland started scoring, Draco started roaring in triumph. Bulgaria had nothing against them.
Although, their Seeker Krum seemed to be their greatest asset, and a real threat too. Of course Draco was confident in Lynch's abilities, but Krum seemed to be even more focused and perhaps more ruthless too, floating at about Draco's eye level, observing the game in an attempt to find the snitch.

And then there it was a flash of gold. Without his advanced vision, Draco wouldn't have seen it. But then, the Seekers had, already plummeting through the center of the chasers. Though they were going in the wrong direction. Why were they heading for the ground if the snitch was just a few meters above?
They were going so fast that Draco had to lower his binoculars to watch closely.
And then they were right there, a few meters off the ground.

Krum pulled up, while Lynch dully hit the ground. A nasty sound echoed from the arena walls.

A Wronski Feint. Of course. Krum really was ruthless. He had only feinted seeing the snitch. Draco wondered whether the Slytherin green would suit him just as well.

There was arguing in the stands. Wild protests while a group of Mediwizards made their way to the smushed Irish man.

After the injury, there was one foul after the next. The Veelas trying to interfere with their alluring dances and sounds.

Draco's parents had stuffed their ears with Veela prove wax beforehand, though Draco hadn't bothered.  As pretty and flawless as they were, they didn't really do it for Draco. Probably due to their ineffectiveness towards dark creatures. At least that was Draco's theory. He had never actually heard of such a phenomenon. But Lupin didn't seem to bother stuffing his ears either. The werwolf didn't seem to study them at all, his eyes transfixed on Black; the two of them were chuckling quietly to one another.

It would've been cute if Draco didn't find both parties disturbing.

Ireland scored again and again. And then, after a nasty Bludger hit Krum in the face, there was another golden flicker. And this time Lynch was on it's heels, followed by Krum not far after.

"Their gonna crash!"
Draco heard from somewhere far right. It was possible of course, but Draco had a feeling that this was gonna be the end of it. Someone was gonna get the snitch.
But they couldn't both get the snitch.
So, surely enough, Lynch hit the ground. Again.
While Krum pulled up into ghe sky successfully and gracefully next to him, holding the snitch in his palm and wearing a crooked smile on his lips. His nose was still all bloody from the earlier impact of the Bludger. But nobody really seemed to care.

The red side of the stadium roared.

Draco knew better, however. And the blackboard conformed his suspicions.
BULGARIA:160, IRELAND: 170. A close win, despite Blugaria catching the snitch.

The entire stadion was one ginormous bulk of sound. Draco had trouble hearing at all. One half complainig in terror while the other half cheered animately, though unclear who did what on which side. Some still seemed to think Bulgaria the winner.

Then:"IRELAND WINS!"
Bagman shouted.
"KRUM GETS THE SNITCH - BUT IRELAND WINS! - good lord, I don't think any of us were expecting that!"

A thousand leprechauns swirled through the air, dancing gleefully surrounded by streks of green, the irish players zooming around in joy. Like a green explosion the wixen underneath lifted their flags and coloured fan articles, chanting for their team or discussing the surprising turn of events rather loudly. It was all a bit much on Draco's senses, in the rush of everything around. Smells bundling and rising up from the tight knit crowd beneath. Rainboys and gold raining down on the arena.

"And as the Irish team performs a lap of honour, flanked by their mascots, the Quidditch World Cup itself is brought into the Top Box!"
Draco heard Bagman call above all the noise.

Draco wanted to celebrate as well. He really did. Wanted to scream and rear in triumph. But with all this sensory overload it was hard to stay standing. And suddenly his mormally flattened breathing just stopped.

Draco couldn't breath.

It was all so much.

What was happening to him?

Was it a curse?

Had some angry Bulgarian fan gotten to him?

A Weasley?

Why couldn't he breath?

His legs were starting to feel all wobbly.

Narcissa to his right, seemed to catch onto her son's problem rather quickly, grabbing his hand in alarm.

Narcissa Black was no Legimens. But when she needed to get something across she could do it even without telepathy. Grabbing her husbands hand in alarm, and drawing Draco with them as well, the little family was in the adjoining stairway within seconds.

A silencing charm was cast, another spell then a third. And suddenly Draco was able to breath again, falling into his parents arms like dead weight. All of a sudden there were tears in his eyes. Too much too fast. The reaction to all that had been before, was still catching up with Draco.

"We got you Draco."
"Everything's gonna be fine."
"Breath in for me son."
"Now hold."
"Breath out."
"Listen to your father's voice."
"Listen to our heartbeats."
"You will be okay, Draco. I promise."
"Just breath!"
"In...and out."

Tears of fatigue and sorrow, mixed with tears of gratitude.

Everything was fine.

Everything was going to be fine as long as he had his parents here, by his side.

They would care for him, no matter their differences.

One family.

One blood.

One unity.

It was gonna be okay, as long as they were together.