Nearly

Harry has barely stopped spinning inside the fireplace at Malfoy Manor when he’s knocked backwards by a very excited Draco and he staggers back with a giggle as the blonde throws his arms around him.

”You’re here!” he exclaims happily. 

”I’m here!” Harry laughs and hugs him back. 

”Mother has made up one of the guestrooms for you…” Draco says quietly. ”But it’s on the same floor as mine, so I can sneak out to see you after they’ve gone to bed… I mean… If you want”, he adds shyly, blushing a pretty pink and Harry grins. ”What?”

”Nothing…” Harry says and continues to smile widely. ”I do want…”

Draco’s blush deepens slightly, but his lips twitch. 

”Come on, before they come to investigate what’s taking us so long…”

They make their way across the ballroom-style lounge and into what Harry remembers to be the dining room, Draco letting go of his hand just outside the doors before they enter side by side, and Harry stares in amazement at the long table that’s been set for dinner and the small feast that has been laid out by whatever house-elf that’s resplaced the one Harry tricked Mr Malfoy into setting free, and marvels at the massive centrepiece in the middle of the table. 

Narcissa comes swooping inside the room from another doorway and smiles serenly at him as she inclines her head in greeting. Harry quickly mirrors the gesture and smiles back, if a little hesitantly. Although Mrs Malfoy has never been anything but nice to him, something about the witch makes him feel very uncomfortable. Probably because he can’t seem to read her and therefore has no idea what the woman is thinking, and more specifically what she thinks of him… 

But, Harry thinks wrily as Lucius Malfoy comes striding in through yet another doorway, she’s an absolute delight compared to her husband… 

Lucius and Harry eye each other tensely for a second. 

”Mr Potter”, the older wizard says finally in a politely neutral tone of voice as he too inclines his head. ”It’s… nice… to see you again.”

”Yes, very nice”, Narcissa says pleasantly and more or less flutters over to the table and into one of the seats where she busies herself with unfolding a large napkin shaped like a swan and placing it into her lap. 

”You too”, Harry says and tries to sound like he means it. ”Thank you for having me, and for inviting me to come to the World Cup—”

”Of course, we’re delighted to have you!” Narcissa says. ”Draco, darling, do show Harry to his seat…”

Draco springs to action as if scolded and gently pushes Harry towards one of the seats at the table, before taking the one next to him, opposite his mother… Which means, Harry thinks with dawning dread, Lucius will be sitting opposite me… No sooner has the thought entered Harry’s head than the older wizard swoops down into the chair opposite and smirks coolly at him. Harry forces his lips to widen into what he hopes will look like a smile and not a grimace, then quickly looks away and tries to focus on Draco instead.

Maybe it’s because he’d imagined so much worse, but the dinner turns out to be quite pleasant. Harry isn’t even aware of any tension at all, until he’s halfway through replying to one of Narcissa’s polite, standard questions and he notices the woman’s gaze flit away from him before narrowing at something in front of Draco on the table… Harry trails off and follows her line of sight to Draco’s plate and catches him move his food around idly, as is his custom. 

”Draco!” Narcissa says sharply. 

Both boys jump. Draco immediately straightens in his chair and speers a piece of broccoli that he puts in his mouth and starts to chew quickly.

Narcissa’s gaze flickers over to Harry briefly before fixing on Draco’s face again. 

”Need I remind you of the agreement we made at the beginning of the summer?” she asks quietly.

”No, Mother”, Draco replies. 

”Good… Harry, do forgive my rudeness”, she adds pleasantly and gives him one of her small smiles. ”Please continue…”

The rest of the dinner is uneventful but far from relaxed, even if all three Malfoys are skilled at pretending, which Harry soon realises and he finally understands what the the lack of tension he’d noticed earlier is really about… 

After they’ve finished eating, or rather after Draco has finally finished eating — Harry and Narcissa keeping him company at the table as he forces the last morsels down, Narcissa’s hawk eyes on him the whole time — Draco walks Harry to the guestroom down the corridor from his own bedroom and says good night to him at the door. Harry gives him a small smile. 

”Good night. See you in the morning…”

He gets his pyjamas out of his rucksack and changes in to them before quickly sliding beneath the covers of the bed. He lies awake for a long while, listening intently… The door slides open behind his back and he holds his breath… 

”Lumos”, Narcissa’s voice whispers and then after a small pause she adds, ”Nox.”

The door slides shut again and Harry turns over to his back and stares up at the ceiling. He’s just beginning to drift off when the soft creak of the door reaches him for a third time and he blinks his eyes open again. 

He feels rather than sees Draco slip into the bed next to him. 

”Hey…” he whispers. 

”Hey yourself”, Draco whispers back and Harry can almost hear the smirk in his voice. ”Did I wake you? I just wanted to say good night properly…”

”Properly?” Harry repeats teasingly. ”No, you didn’t wake me… I was hoping you’d come and, you know…”

”Yeah?” the blonde whispers. 

Harry feels the warm gust of his breath hit the side of his mouth and realises the other boy must have leaned in closer. Concentrating on keeping his head as still as possible, he swallows thickly and peers out into the darkness, trying to make out the other boy’d face… Suddenly a nose bumps against his cheek and he flinches instinctively, but then there are fingertips grazing through his hair and curling around the back of his head, holding him in place. 

He wets his lips in anticipation and holds his breath as he waits… His heart is beating so hard, he’s sure Draco must be able to hear it… Suddenly soft lips brush against his own and it sends tingles all through his body. His fingers twitch uncertainly, unsure of whether it’s okay for him to reach out, to grab, to —

The lips brush against him again, firmer and more insistent this time. Harry presses back and gently dabs at Draco’s bottom lip with his tongue, teasing his mouth open… Draco’s breath hitches. His fingers fist the hair at the back of Harry’s head and pulls him in as his swirls his own tongue around Harry’s eagerly. 

Suddenly desperate for closeness, Harry flings his arm out and grabs at the first part of the other boy’s body that he can reach, which turns out to be the lean upper part of his arm and he kneads it briefly, before letting his hand travel further up, along the shoulder and then curls it around the slender neck, as he wiggles his hips closer, closer, searching for friction… He slips his leg in-between Draco’s and an unmistakable hardness is suddenly pressed against his thigh. Heart stuttering in his chest, Harry carefully presses back… The other boy jerks his head back with a gasp, and they both freeze, panting heavily and still clutching each other…

”Oh…” Draco whispers and there’s a strangled quality to his voice that does all sorts to wicked things to Harry and he can barely stop himself from grinning. 

”S-Sorry…” he whispers. ”Too fast?”

”I… I don’t know…” Draco whispers, his fingers relaxing in Harry’s hair and fluttering down his neck to rest over his heart instead. ”Yeah, maybe… Or not too fast, but… If my parents…”

”Yeah”, Harry says. ”I get it…”

”Remember it took mother a year to convince father to let me be friends with you again… I don’t even want to think about what they’ll do if they catch us… catch us doing anything… anything—”

”Overly friendly?”

Draco huffs in amusement, but doesn’t say anything else. Harry wonders if maybe he’d nodded, but it’s impossible for Harry to make anything out in the darkness of the room, especielly since he’s not even wearing his glasses.

”I should probably go back to my room”, Draco says after another moment’s silence. ”We have to get up in a few hours.”

”Yeah… Can you believe we’re going to the Quidditch World Cup tomorrow? It’s going to be so awesome!”

”I know”, Draco gushes, his excitement spilling over. 

”Okay, well”, Harry says decisively and leans in for a quick kiss before giving the other boy a gentle shove in the chest. ”Good night.”

”Pushy…” Draco grumbles and leans back in for two quick pecks. ”G’night… See you soon!”

Harry stares wistfully at the silhouette in the doorway before it disappears and the room is bathed in darkness once more. He sighs happily to himself and lets his eyes fall shut, re-playing the kisses in his mind’s eye until he finally succumbs to sleep. 

”Harry! Harry! Wake up, sleepy-head, it’s time! It’s time!”

”Whaaa…” Harry grumbles. 

Squinting his eyes open, Harry’s discovers the room to be flooded with pale light from the large windows and realises it must already be morning. He peers up at the blonde, blurry blob hovering above him and shaking his shoulder mercilessly.

”It’s time to get up! We’re going to the World Cup, let’s go!” Draco exclaims excitedly. 

Harry sits up and rubs the sleep out of his eyes, but none of Draco’s features come into focus until he finds his glasses. The blonde is beaming back at him by the time he’s put them on, and then he starts to giggle. 

”What?” Harry says. 

”Your hair…” Draco says and shakes his head. ”It’s just impossible, isn’t it?” 

”Oh… Yeah…” Harry mutters and attempts to flatten it with one of his hands. 

”Well, never mind that”, Draco says and grabs the hand in his and starts to pull on it insistently. ”Breakfast is ready and father has said we need to leave in half an hour—”

”Half an hour? But that’s ages—!” Harry protests feebly, stumbling out of bed as the other boy keeps pulling on him. 

”Don’t be ridiculous. You need time to get ready—”

”I really don’t…” Harry says, but shuffles after the blonde obediently anyway. 

”Such a brute”, Draco mutters and finally lets go of his hand as they descend the stairs to get to the dining room. 

”Tired brute…” Harry counters. 

Breakfast promises to be a tense affair, much like the second half of the dinner the night before, but Harry thinks he might be too sleepy to be bothered by it. That is, until Draco gets into a hushed argument with his mother over eating breakfast and insists he can’t travel on a full stomach or he’ll get sick, and Narcissa finally agrees to let him skip breakfast and go get ready, on the condition that he eats something once they get there… Now, Harry is happy as long as Draco is happy, but he really wishes the blonde would stay at the table and keep him company while he eats breakfast at least. As it is, the blonde dashes out of the dining room again, to go take bath or something, and Harry is left to share the tense silence with Mr and Mrs Malfoy. He’s never felt quite as uncomfortable before in his life. 

Luckily the moment is short-lived and soon they’re all filing out of the large front doors of the Manor and, heading past the massive wrought-iron gates, they continue along a long hedge-lined driveway. Harry, who have only seen the rose garden at the back of the Manor previously, looks around in mild curiousity and blinks in surprise as a pearly-white peacock suddenly flaps down on top of one of the hedges and lets out a high-pitched caw. 

”Father…” Draco says carefully. ”Where exactly are we going?”

”Portkey point”, Lucius replies shortly.

One glance at the younger Malfoy’s face tells Harry he’d known that already but had wanted to know more specifically where that is, and how far they have to walk. But Draco doesn’t elaborate, just pinches his lips together and trudges on in silence. Harry suspects he must have learned quite early on that his father has little patience for questions. 

”Why don’t we Apparate?” Harry asks, but he makes sure to direct the question at Narcissa. 

”Apparation doesn’t agree with Draco’s tummy”, she tells him. 

”Mother…” Draco mutters, blushing a subtle pink.

Harry gentle knocks his shoulder against the other boy’s and gives him a small smile, ”I hate apparating too…”

They walk for a good twenty minutes until they finally reach a small hill where the weirdest man, woman and child Harry has ever seen are already waiting next to a chipped tea cup. The man is wearing a pair of casual trousers in an odd, rough material rather like tweed but smoother and bright blue, an oversized jumper with big writing across the chest and a hood attached to the collar and on top of his head, the only normal piece of his outfit, he’s jammed a traditional bowler hat. The woman at his side, who at first glance had appeared to be wearing regular robes, is in fact wearing a long, checkered skirt on her bottom half and what appears to be another skirt, only with a floral pattern, on her top half. Between them, half hidden behind her mother’s skirts, stands a young girl wearing a one-piece pyjamas. Harry wonders if the whole family might have escaped from St. Mungos…

”I say, Lucius…” the wizard says as they approach them. ”Didn’t you hear, we’re supposed to be incognito and dress in muggle attire?”

Oh, that explains it, Harry thinks and feels a bit better about getting closer to the family.

Both Mr and Mrs Malfoy give the shorter man a withering look, but neither respond to his question. Lucius withdraws a pocket watch from inside his robes and checks the time. 

”Good morning Barnaby. Philemina. Are we waiting for anyone else?” he asks coolly. 

”No, the Greengrasses didn’t get tickets…” the short man says with grin. 

”Is that Daphne’s family?” Harry asks Draco under his breath and the blonde nods, then shoots him a suspicious look. ”Just asking… Do they live around here as well?”

”Yes”, Draco says shortly. 

Harry rolls his eyes and hisses quietly, ”I’m not interested in Daphne, so stop scowling!”

”And who’s this young lad you’ve brought with you, Lucius?” the man, Barnaby, says loudly and Harry quickly whips his head back around and gives him a polite smile. ”Dark hair like that, I daresay he’s not a relative…”

”No”, Lucius says in a clipped tone and glares down at his pocket watch again.

”Harry here is a friend of our son Draco’s”, Narcissa supplies with one of her serene nods. ”They go to school together.”

”Not Harry Potter?” the woman asks curiously, leaning in to peer at Harry’s forehead. 

”The same”, Narcissa confirms, her nostrils flaring slightly as she stares at the other woman who’s nose is now uncomfortably close to Harry’s own and he staggers back from her. 

”Oh-ho…” Barnaby says and rocks back on his heels, shooting Lucius a teasing grin. ”Who would have thought it, eh, Lucius…”

”Quite”, Lucius says coldly. ”I think it’s time… Everyone gather round… Draco! Come here, next to me—”

Draco just has time to grab Harry’s hand before Lucius grabs his and pulls him roughly to his side. They all crowd around the tea cup and with some awkward contorting, manage to bend over it and place each of their index fingers along the chipped brim. 

Suddenly it happens. Harry feels like an invisible hook has latched onto his belly button and pulled him violently forward. The grassy hill top disappears from underneath his feet and the whole world spins around him until it’s all just a big swirl of colours. He squeezes his eyes shut tightly, feeling like he’s going to be sick… This is even worse than Apparating, he thinks desperately. 

Then, just as suddenly, his feet slams into solid ground again and his index finger that had been magically stuck to the brim of the tea cup, flies loose and he topples over, sprawling on the ground. Squinting in the morning light, he notices Draco has fallen on the ground next to him but the grown-ups have managed to stay on their feet. 

”Ten past seven from Wiltshire”, a drawling voice says from somewhere behind Harry. 

Climbing to his feet, he turns around to see a very exhausted-looking wizard look up from a large gold watch and stoop down to pluck the tea cup from the ground and toss it in a large box of other used Portkeys. Another wizard, just as tired-looking as the first, if not more so, scribbles something on roll of parchment. 

”Malfoy…” he says in a disinterested drone. ”Your campsite is located a quarter of a mile’s walk over there. The first field you come to. Site manager’s name is Mr Rogers…”

”Thank-you”, Lucius says breezily. 

He stalks off in the direction of the campsite without a word of goodbye to their fellow travellers and Narcissa immediately gestures for Harry and Draco to follow him, also without acknowledging the other family. Harry glances at them over his shoulder and gives them a pinched smile in parting, but then hurries to catch up with the Malfoys. 

All four of them walk briskly across the moor, the last traces of mist slithering around their ankles. Harry can see a small stone cottage up ahead and a muggle man, that must be Mr Roberts, is standing just outside the door, gazing out across the many tents cramped together on the campsite.

At the sound of their approaching footsteps, Mr Roberts turns around and squints at them. Lucius stops abruptly, and Harry can see his black gloved hand tighten on the silver top of his walking stick before he suddenly turns around and hisses to his wife, ”Will you deal with the muggle?”

Narcissa’s eyelids seem to droop slightly, as if the question has tired her, but other than that she gives no indication that she has even heard her husband speak. But after a tense second’s silence in which the two simply stare at each other, she takes a deep breath and strides over to the now rather suspicious-looking Mr Roberts. 

”Good morning”, she greets him coolly. ”We have a reservation in the name of Malfoy.”

”Mal-foy?” the muggle repeats, his eyes narrowing further. ”That’s a funny name…”

”Excuse me?” Narcissa says coldly. 

”A lot of funny people showing up here recently… Foreigners and weirdos… You look all right enough, I suppose, all things considered…” he trails off, giving Narcissa’s robes a once-over. 

”Excuse me…” Lucius says coldly. 

”What?” Mr Roberts says. ”You think I’m kidding? You should see some of these crackpots… They’re wearing all sorts of weird clothes and…”

”Yes, thank you”, Narcissa says swiftly. ”If I could just pay…”

”Oh, right”, Mr Roberts says. ”Just the one night, is it?”

”Yes…” Narcissa says slowly and holds out a couple of paper squares that Harry realises must be muggle money when Mr Roberts takes them from her and starts muttering about change. ”That’s quite all right, keep it. Now, if you could just point us in the direction of our allotted space…”

”I’ll give you your change”, Mr Roberts mutters with a glare. ”But you’re over there, just by those trees…”

”Thank you”, Narcissa says shortly. 

She turns away when the man holds out a fistful of small coins and ushers Draco in front of her towards the trees and Harry hurries to keep up with them. 

When they reach the tree line, Lucius pulls out their tent from his pocket and unshrinks it before assembling the pieces and raising it with a few swift wand movements. Narcissa gestures for Harry and Draco to enter the tent first and Harry eagerly looks around. The main area of the tent reminds him slightly of the ballroom at Malfoy Manor, minus the massive chandelier in the ceiling. He can see one doorway leading to what must be the kitchen and then three other doors, presumably leading to the bedrooms. He turns to smile at Draco, who doesn’t look as impressed by the surroundings, but returns Harry’s smile readily enough. 

”Want to go explore the campsite?” Harry says eagerly.

”Yeah!” Draco says, getting excited as well. ”And let’s go buy some souverniers!”

”Boys…” Narcissa says, stopping them in their tracks. ”Make sure to be back here for lunch in an hour. Draco, I’m serious… You didn’t have any breakfast, don’t think I’ve forgotten.”

”Yes, mother”, Draco sighs. 

”You won’t believe it”, Lucius hisses as he storms inside the tent. ”The Weasleys! In the tent next to  ours, I mean literally next to us!”

”It’s all right, Lucius… We’ll just stay in the tent until it’s time to meet Cornelius. There’s no reason we should run into them. It’s not like they’ll be in the top box…”

”No… No, you’re right…” Lucius mumbles, smirking a little smugly to himself at the thought. 

Narcissa raises a delicate eyebrow as if to say, Of course I am but remains silent. Her eyes flicker over to Draco briefly, and the blonde apparently takes it to mean they’re dismissed, because he grabs Harry’s sleeve and pulls gently, before leading the way out of the tent. 

”Let’s go see if we can find Seamus”, Draco says pointing to a patch of tents covered in shamrocks. 

”Okay”, Harry agrees, falling into step with him, but glancing behind him at the tents on either side of theirs, wondering which one was the Weasleys’, however he’s soon distracted by the tickling sensation of fingertips grazing the palm of his right hand and immediately looks down and grabs Draco’s hand with a happy smile. 

”Harry! Draco! Over here!”

”There he is”, Draco says, making a beeline for one of the hillock-shaped tents and pulling Harry along behind him. ”And Blaise too!”

Blaise Zabini and Seamus Finnigan, Harry’s and Draco’s closest friends from school, sit crosslegged outside the bright green tent, wearing massive Ireland rossettes on their lapels in equally bright green colour, if not brighter. 

”Hi Seamus! Blaise!” Draco greets them as he and Harry come to a stop in front of the other two boys.

”Hi guys”, the dark-skinned slytherin says, squinting up at them with a cool smile. ”Did you just get here?”

”Yeah, literally five minutes ago”, Harry replies. ”I didn’t know you were coming, Blaise!”

”Oh, we couldn’t let the poor thing miss this”, says Seamus’s mother, a sandy-haired witch with a smatter of freckles on her rosy cheeks, as she walks out of the tent. ”It’s one for the History books, this is!”

”Mum, you remember Harry and Draco from school”, Seamus tells her and she nods at each of them in turn, eyes narrowed in consideration. 

”You’ll be supporting Ireland, won’t you?”

”Of course”, Draco says and Harry quickly nods, chiming in with, ”What else!”

The woman nods her approval and offers them a cup of tea. Draco checks the time and accepts, sitting down in the grass opposite Blaise, pulling Harry down next to him. 

”So you worked it out then…” Blaise comments, nodding towards Harry’s and Draco’s interlaced fingers.

”About bloody time!” Seamus says. 

”Oh, sweethearts, are you?” Mrs Finnigan says, handing them each a cup of steaming hot tea. ”Isn’t that lovely… I’ve tried asking Seamus if he’s sweet on anyone, but he refuses to tell me!”

”Because there’s nothing to tell”, Blaise says with a smirk. 

”Not for lack of trying…” Seamus mutters and the other boys snicker good-naturedly. 

When it’s only ten minutes left until their curfew, Draco insists Harry and he start heading back to the tent, so they thank Mrs Finnigan for the tea and wave goodbye to their friends. 

When they return to the tent, Harry can see Arthur Weasley and at least five of his children gathered in front of the tent to the left of theirs and to his mild surprise, Hermione Granger is with them as well. He accidentally locks eyes with one of the Weasley twins and smiles in greeting. The older boy perks up and says something to the others, who all turn to look at Harry as well and wave at him. He waves back awkwardly. 

It turns out Mr and Mrs Malfoy have decided to venture outside the tent after all, despite their opinions about their temporary neightbours, because they’re standing just outside of the tent’s flap door, talking to another wizard, although Harry can tell Lucius is fighting to stay focused on the conversation because his grey eyes keep flitting over to the Weasleys every other second and narrowing in disgust. Looking more closely, Harry can see what’s bothering him. Mr Weasley is attempting to light a fire using some sort of muggle devices that look like tiny wooden sticks that spark into a flame when he rubs their tip against the side of a small box, but every time they do, it startles him and he drops the stick and has to retrieve a new one from the box. 

”Ah, here they are…” Lucius says drily. ”Bode, you remember my son, Draco…”

”Ah, yes, yes, nice to see you again, young man!” the other wizard says, barely even looking at Draco.

”And this is his friend from school, Harry Potter…”

”Oh, indeed”, Bode says, sounding just a little more interested and Harry catches his eyes flick upwards to seek out the scar on his forehead. 

”I believe you work with one of his guardians, Sirius Black?” Lucius adds. 

”Yes, indeed I do, but I’ve not yet had the please”, Mr Bode says and reaches out to clasp Harry’s hand tightly. ”Nice to meet you, Mr Potter!”

”Nice to meet you”, Harry says politely and shakes the man’s hand. 

”Aha, the man of the moment! Ludo!” Mr Weasley exclaims from the tent next door. 

Harry turns to see a beaming Ludo Bagman, wearing his old Quidditch robes that make him look like an over-sized bee, walking up to the Weasleys’ tent. 

”Ohoy there!” he calls out happily. ”Arthur, old man! What a day, eh? What a day!… And Malfoy, and Bode, as well”, he adds. ”Why, is this the campsite for Ministry employees or what?”

”Well, if you’ll excuse us, Bode”, Lucius mutters coolly. ”Now that the boys are back, we really ought to head inside for a spot of lunch… Draco! Inside, now!”

Draco quickly springs to life and hurries inside the tent. Harry follows him, but at a more leisure pace and pretends not to notice the sneer on Lucius face as he passes him.

Lunch is a tense and drawn out affair and by the time Draco has finished eating, and he and Harry head back outside to continue exploring the campsite, the afternoon sun has already started to set. Salesmen carrying trays or pushing carriages full of merchandise are Apparating and Disapparating left-right-and-centre, lit up like Christmas trees with their bright green rossettes for Ireland and red ones for Bulgaria, pointed green hats with dancing Shamrock and red scarves decked out in roaring lions, as well as flags from both countries that start to belt out their respective national anthems when waved, which makes for a very chaotic atmosphere when Harry and Draco wade through the many salesmen.

”Come and get your collectible figures of your favourite players!”

”Fully functioning miniature Firebolt! Come and get your miniature Firebolt here, only three galleons!”

”I want to get a programme”, Harry says, craning his neck as he scans the many carts and trays around him and no sooner has he uttered the word than a very excited-looking Saleswoman Apparates right in front of him with a crack that makes him jump back.

”Get your programmes here!” she says happily. ”Two galleons each!”

”Two, please”, Harry says and hands her four gold coins, then takes the programmes from her and gives one to Draco. ”Should we get some rossettes or something?”

”I can’t, my parents don’t like me spending my pocket money on things I don’t need… Unless it’s ridiculously expensive and flashy, so that I can broadcast to the world how well off we are”, he adds drily and rolls his eyes. 

”What about a pair of binoculars?” Harry says and points to a cart filled with the brass instruments. ”Are they useful enough?”

Draco eyes the cart seriously for a second, then nods decisively and they approach it. The saleswizard perks up immediately and grabs one of the binoculars with a flourish and then holds it up. 

”Omniculars!” he exclaims. ”An absolute must at any match! You can replay action, slow everything down, watch a play-by-play, you name it—!”

”How much?” Harry asks. 

”A bargain! Ten galleons!”

”Ten?” Harry repeats. ”How about five?”

”These are quality omniculars, mister!” the saleswizard splutters. ”Eight and five sickles!”

”We’ll take two for seven a piece”, Draco drawls, making a show of looking elsewhere as if bored and ready to walk on. 

”Fine, fine, fourteen galleons!”

At dusk, the air itself is quivering with anticipation and by the time night falls, every witch and wizard come out of their tents, clutching their merchandise and murmuring excitedly. Then suddenly a gong rings out in the hush and immediately hundreds of green and red lanterns are lit amongst the trees, flanking the trail that leads to the stadium. Going with the surge of thousands of other excited witches and wizards, Harry and the Malfoys set out on the path through the woods. After a twenty minute walk, the golden walls of the Quidditch stadium appears between the silhouetted trees and Harry can’t help but to stare in amazement. He’s almost immediately distracted however, when Lucius sidles up next to him and lets his walking stick fly out behind his back and hooks the sharp silver head in the crock of Draco’s neck and thus herds the both of them towards the the nearest entrance of the gigantic stadium. Harry fights the impulse to bat the stick away from him, telling himself that at least it’s not the man’s gloved hand resting against his skin…

Narcissa hands their tickets to the Ministry witch who whistles when she sees their seats, ”Top Box! Just head straight up the stairs and just keep going as high as you can…”

They start to climb the purple carpeted stairs higher and higher, as the rest of the crowd gradually dissipates around them as witches and wizards file off and disappears through the doors they pass on each level, until finally they’re the only ones left climbing to the very top level and enter a small box. Inside are two rows of purple seats and looking out towards the pitch, Harry can see the rounded inner walls of the oval stadium where a hundred thousand witches and wizards are taking their seats and waving their flags and scarves. He’s never seen anything so magnificent in his life… In fact he’s so mesmerized by the view that at first he doesn’t even notice the many redheads in the front row and it’s not until Lucius lets out a tiny, involuntary gasp next to him that he realises that the entire Weasley clan and Hermione Granger is situated in the row in front of them, chatting idly with the Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge. 

Harry quickly looks up at Lucius’s face to gauge the risk of an altercation and wonders briefly if he should try and intervene like his daddy did that one time in Flourish and Blotts if the man does get into a fist fight with Mr Weasley… But if Lucius had been startled by the sight of the Weasleys when they walked into the Top Box, then he’d managed to hide it quickly because the look on his face is nothing if not calm and composed. 

”Ah, and here’s Lucius!” Fudge exclaims excitedly and wrings Lucius’s hand as soon as it’s within reach. 

”Ah, Fudge… How are you?” Lucius asks coolly. ”I don’t think you’ve met my wife, Narcissa? Or our son, Draco?”

”How do you do, how do you do?” says Fudge, smiling at them both and then doing a double-take as his eyes find Harry. ”Merlin’s beard!”

”And Harry, of course, our son’s friend from school…” Lucius adds smoothly and claps Harry once on the shoulder. 

”Harry Potter, what a pleasure—!” Fudge says and clasps Harry’s hand eagerly. ”And allow me to introduce you all to Mr Oblansk — Obalonsk — Mr — well, he’s the Bulgarian Minister for Magic, and he can’t understand a word I’m saying”, Fudge adds, then turns to the man in question and speaks loudly and slowly, while pointing at Harry. ”This… Is… Harry… Potter… Harry Potter… Oh, come now! You must know who he is! The Boy Who Lived, you know?”

Harry feels his face heat up and looks away, seeking out Draco’s eyes and feeling somewhat comforted when the other boy gives him a small smile and rolls his eyes. 

”Oh, Barty Crouch for this sort of business, I’m no great shakes at languages…” Fudge sighs. ”Where is Barty… Oh, I see his house-elf is saving him a seat…” 

Harry cranes his neck and sees a shy-looking house-elf sitting curled up on one of the seats in the second row, her face hidden in her trembling hands and her great bat-like ears sticking out on either side and quivering with each shuddering breath she takes. 

”Good thing too! These Bulgarian blighters have been trying to cadge all the best places… Anyway, let’s see who else — you know Arthur Weasley, I daresay?” Fudge asks Lucius. 

Mr Weasley, who seems to have tried his best to ignore them up until this point, turns around in his seat and returns Lucius’s stare firmly, his ears flaring red as the blonde man sneers. Harry and Draco take their seats in the row behind the Weasleys, book-ended by Lucius and Narcissa, and for one brief moment it looks as though they’re out of the woods… But apparently Lucius can’t resist one final dig, because he sweeps his gaze along the first row then comments in mock surprise: ”Good Lord, Arthur. What did you have to sell to get these tickets? Surely your house wouldn’t have fetched this much?”

All of the Weasleys’ faces flush a deep crimson and scrunch up into matching set of scowls. Harry looks down at the omniculars in his lap, wishing for the first time since arriving in Dartmoor that morning that he in fact was anywhere else, World Cup be damned… 

”Lucius has just given a very generous contribution to St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, Arthur”, Fudge says, clearly oblivious to the sudden tension. ”He’s here as my personal guest!”

”How — how nice”, Mr Weasley says, his voice strangled by emotion and Harry glances up quickly to see the man’s lips curl in a poor attempt at a smile.

Harry flicks his gaze over to Ron, who seems to sense his attention because he glances back and meets his eyes with an unreadable look on his face, but ears still burning a bright red. Harry quickly looks down again, feeling awful. 

Luckily Ludo Bagman chooses that moment to come bounding into the box, grinning almost maniacally and rubbing his hands together, and redirecting all of their attention to why they’re there… The match is about to begin!

”Well then! Are we all ready?” Bagman exclaims. ”Minister?”

”Ready when you are, Ludo”, Fudge says calmy as he too takes his seat. 

The former Quidditch player holds up his wand to his throat and casts a Sonorus spell, then begins the commentary and Harry eagerly leans forward in his seat, omniculars gripped tightly in both hands. But before the players come onto the pitch, Bagman introduces each team’s mascots, starting with the Bulgarians which turns out to be a hundred Veelas dancing a mesmerizing dance that seems to put half the audience into some kind of a trance… Next to him, Draco starts sniggering and Harry curiously follows his line of sight to see a red-faced Granger out of her seat and physically restraining a very dazed Ron who seems to be trying to jump out of the Top Box in his eagerness to be closer to the Veela. 

Harry looks around i mild interest to see almost all the men in the box similarly affected, including the Minster for Magic but not, funnily enough, the Weasley twins nor Draco and himself, and Lucius Malfoy only slightly so; he’s blinking in a daze, but not making any attempts to get out of his seat like the others. 

Draco leans in and whispers in Harry’s ear, ”There have been rumous about Veela blood in the Malfoy family tree some generations ago, so technically father is part Veela and slightly immune to their magic…”

”Oh, I thought he might be bi or something”, Harry quips, receiving a jab in his ribs. 

Narcissa looks between the two of them, her eyes slightly narrowed in thought, but it’s impossible to gauge her feelings. Harry thinks she’s probably torn between relief that they’re behaving in public and concern over the implications of what it means that they’re completely unaffacted by the Veela. But she doesn’t say anything. 

Finally the music stops and the effect is instantaneous. All the men, and the few women, who’d been enthralled by the Veela regain their bearings and those who, like Ron, has tried to clamber out of their boxes and get closer to the pitch, quickly resume their seats as Ludo Bagman introduces the Irish Team’s mascots which unsurprisingly turn out to be a thousand leprechauns, zooming into the Stadium and putting on a magnificent show that culminates in a heavy rainfall of gold coins. 

After the leprechauns have congregated on the Irish side of the pitch and settled down to watch the match, Ludo Bagman introduce each player on both teams and then finally the referee, who mounts his broom and then kicks open the crate to release the quaffle, the bludgers and the golden Snitch — then with a shrill whistle, the match begins!

Harry has never experiences Quidditch this like this. Once, Sirius took him to see the Tornados play the Appleby Arrows, which is one of the highlights of Harry’s life to date, but that was childplay compared to this… The tempo of the match is faster and the tricks and feints pulled by the players more complicated. It’s like an intricate choreographed dance interspersed with bursts of violence as the bludgers are beaten and the players crash into each other. It’s so exciting, and the thrilling stunts and close-calls so many that Harry almost forgets to breathe… The Bulgarian Seeker, Victor Krum, in particular is amazing and Harry can barely take his eyes off him… It’s unbelievable that he’s only eighteen and still in school, Harry thinks, cheering himself hoarse as the young player catches the Snitch right out from under Lynch’s nose and ends the game, even though Ireland is in the lead with one-hundred-and-sixty points and wins the match. 

”Why did he catch it for?” Harry can hear Ron shout, even as he’s jumping up and down in celebrating and clapping his hands. 

But it’s obvious to Harry that the Bulgarian Seeker had had no choice, since Lynch had already spotted the Snitch, but he also thinks Krum might have realised that the Irish Chasers were too good for his own team to ever catch up and simply wanted to end the match on his own terms. And Harry admires him all the more for it. 

As soon as they’ve made their way down all the stairs and back through the woods, Narcissa gives Harry and Draco a curfew and permission to go join their friends Seamus and Blaise over at the Irish campsite where the celebrations have already kicked off with music, singing and dancing. Harry grabs Draco by the arm and begins to hop around to the music. They stumble slightly every now and then, but their grins never waver. They dance well into the night and by the time their curfew is upon them, Harry’s shirt is damp with sweat and clinging to his skin, his hair is sticking to his neck and forehead and he’s panting… But the Irish are just getting started, it appears! Harry shakes his head in wonder and laughs. 

He grabs Draco’s hand and together they weave their way through the crowd and head back towards the tent. When they stumble through the tent’s flap door, Narcissa is sitting in one of the high-backed chairs in the lounge, reading a novel but at the sight of them she gently closes the book and stands up. 

”That’s enough…” she says calmly, hushing their giggles. ”Go brush your teeth and get into your pyjamas, go on…”

They quickly do as they’ve been told, but by the time they’ve finished brushing their teeth and washing up, Narcissa is nowhere to be seen and, assuming she’s gone to bed, both boys sneak into Harry’s bedroom and after they’ve changed into their pyjamas they sit cross-legged on top of the bed and chat quietly, both too wired to sleep… They can still hear the music and voices shouting in celebration, even as the canvas walls begin to brighten with the early light of dawn… 

”They’re never going to bed, are they?” Harry whispers with a chuckle and Draco grins, shaking his head. ”What about you, are you tired?”

”I’m tired, but I don’t think I can sleep…”

”Yeah, same…”

A sudden crash outside the room, wipes the smiles off both of their faces and they stare apprehensively at each other… If Draco’s parents discovers him in my bed, they’ll never let me see him again, Harry thinks and silently curses himself for being so careless… Maybe we can sneak him outside — Why didn’t I bring my Invisibility Cloak? —

The door slams open and both boys startle, staring in fright as Narcissa storms inside the room. Harry opens his mouth, an excuse ready on his tongue, but before he can say anything, the witch has flung herself across the room and grabbed Draco by the arm… 

”Wait —!” Harry exclaims, but swallows the rest of his protest when Narcissa grabs him by the arm as well and yanks him forcefully from the bed. 

”Hurry up!” she hisses. ”We have to go! Come on, both of you, hurry! Harry, grab your things — NOW!”

He bends down to grab a hold of the strap of his rucksack and slings it over his shoulder, while Narcissa continues to pull him along, her well-manicured fingers digging into his arm painfully and he stumbles after her and Draco. 

That’s when it suddenly dawns on him: The voices outside the tent, the screams… They don’t sound happy and celebratory anymore; they sound frightened and panicked… And as soon as Narcissa hurtle them through the flap door of the tent, his suspiscion is confirmed.

If the Irish victory dance had been chaotic, then the sight that meets Harry now is pure mayhem. A stampede of frightened witches and wizards are fleeing the campsite and heading into the woods, running away from a small group of people in masks, jeering and yelling drunkenly as they move across the field, their wands raised and firing hexes and shooting sparks… and high above them, floating in mid-air, are four figures that Harry realises with a pang are people… 

He recognises the man as the muggle — Mr Roberts — who pointed them in the direction of their campsite, and the other three must be his wife and children, Harry thinks with a sinking feelings as he watches in mute horror as the four muggles struggle and writhe in pain…

”Come on, keep going!” Narcissa hisses, propelling Harry towards the woods. 

Harry cranes his neck, staring over his shoulder as more wizards join the first group, laughing and pointing up at the four muggles, until a proper crowd has gathered… Harry sees a tent burst into flames as one of them blasts it out of their way, before Narcissa gives his arm a particularly hard pinch and pushes him forward with all her strength.

They finally reach the tree line and she lets go of their arms. Harry barely refrains from rubbing his, feeling it throb in pain where her fingers had dug in. 

”What’s — what’s going on?” he says. 

”We need to get you home, Harry”, Narcissa says instead of answering. ”I’ll Side-Along you to the nearest floo point, then I’ll come back for you, Draco—”

”What?” Harry gasps. ”No! We can’t leave Draco here alone! Those men — they’re heading this way—!”

Narcissa and Draco exchange a tense look. 

”What?” Harry demands again. 

”Harry”, Draco mutters. ”They won’t harm me…”

”I don’t understand…” Harry says, even as realisation begins to dawn and he glances back towards the campsite where a bright green light has suddenly appeared, but he can’t make out the source of it through the trees. 

”I’ll be fine”, Draco insists. ”Just go with mother… and I’ll see you in school—”

Gripped by an overwhelming tide of emotion, Harry surges forward to plant a kiss on the other boy’s mouth. But Narcissa roughly pushes them apart again, muttering ”None of that nonsense!”

Then her fingers are digging into Harry’s arm again and before he knows what’s happening, he’s being squeezed from all sides and the woods disappear from around him, his eyes are pushed into his skull and his lunges gripped in a vice… In the next moment, his feet connect with firm ground again and blinking tears from his eyes, Harry looks around and realises he’s standing in the middle of an empty pub. Narcissa lets go of his arm again with such force that he staggers. She gives him a pinched look and points towards a fireplace with some burning embers still left in the grate, and then without so much as a nod in good-bye, she Disapparates again. 

Harry walks over to the fireplace and looks around for some floo powder and finally finds a box of it on the floor and scoops some up with a shaking hand. 

”Number Two Creirwy’s Hollow”, he says numbly as he steps into the green flames. 

Stumbling out of the fireplace at home, Harry remains standing in the middle of the room for a moment. He looks around at the familiar, bulging bookcases and snoozing portraits, the worn old sofa and the coffee table, the row of framed photographs on top of the mantlepiece… Home… He wonders if Draco and Narcissa are home at the Manor yet… Unless… Unless… Harry shivers and hugs himself. No, he tells himself sternly. Draco said he’d be fine, Drcao is fine. They’re both home and safe. 

”Harry?” 

He wheels around and locks eyes with a sleepy but surprised Sirius standing in the doorway. 

”What are you doing home so early?” the man asks, crossing the threshold and frowning at him. ”What’s going on?”

Before Harry knows how it’s happened exactly, his knees have buckled under him and tears are running down his face. He struggles for breath, but it’s like his lungs won’t cooperate. Now matter how much he gasps, he can’t get any air. And not until his dad has slammed his strong arms around his body does Harry realise how violently he’s shaking.

”Remus!” Sirius cries. ”REMUS—!”

”What? What?” a haggard-looking Remus hollers as he hurtles inside the lounge, his sleep-swollen eyes flicking wildly around the room before they land on Sirius and Harry kneeling together in the middle of the floor. ”Harry!”

He throws himself down on his knees next to them and grabs Harry’s face in both his hands. 

”Breathe, Harry! Breathe! It’s okay… Whatever happened, it’s going to be okay… Just breathe…”

”I — Dr-raco — the c-c-campsite — I-I-I d-don’t know what —” Harry stammers between gasps, his chest twinging painfully and for one terrified moment Harry genuinely thinks he might be having a heart attack. 

”HARRY!” Sirius barks, startling him. ”Breathe with me! In… Out… In… That’s it, good lad… And out…”

As soon as his lungs stop screaming, Harry unclenches his fists and reaches out for his daddy who eagerly envelops him in his arms and pulls him into his lap. 

”Let’s get him into bed”, he hears his dad mutter. 

Remus buries his face into Harry’s hair and he can feel him nod before he’s lifted off the floor and carried through the house into his bedroom. Remus sits down on top of his bed and leans his back against the headboard, still cradling him against his chest and rubbing soothing circles over his back. And despite his worry for Draco and the awful sight of men in macabre masks torturing muggles for fun re-playing in his mind, Harry almost immediately starts to drift off and just before he falls into a fitfull sleep, he hears his dad growl, ”I’m going to tear his blonde fucking head off!” before Remus shushes him.