Author's Notes: This is such a long chapter. Most of the chapters aren't like this.
20-06-2014 Edit: Saw a small error with the scoring. Fixed.
Seconds later, they touched down gently. Harry looked around, rather disoriented as to where they were. There was the strong smell of fish and saltwater… were they near the sea? At least it was much cooler.
"Thirty-eight past one from Longbottom Manor," a voice said.
They had arrived at what appeared to be a deserted stretch of misty moor. In front of them was a pair of tired and grumpy-looking wizards, one of whom was holding a large gold watch, the other a thick roll of parchment and a quill. Both were dressed as Muggles though ineptly. The wizard with the watch wore a tweed suit with thigh-length galoshes; his colleague a kilt and poncho.
Mr. Nott silently handed the shower rod to the kilted wizard who tossed it into a large box of used Portkeys. Harry could see an old worn out boot, an old newspaper, an empty drinks can, and a punctured football among a whole pile of junk.
"Staying only for the day, then?" The wizard in the tweed suit asked them.
"Yes, only for the match and then we'll be off by Apparation," Lupin responded.
"Ah," his colleage said and then glanced at his shabby attire. "Would you be the werewolf of the party? If so, need to see your papers."
"Yes, I have them right here," the adult said, pulling a thick roll of papers with official looking seals from a pouch hanging from his shoulder. "Run along, Harry, Theo. I'll catch up in no time."
"Right," Theodore said, and they caught up with the rest of their group already meters ahead.
Walking regally, Mrs. Longbottom was still on Mr. Nott's arm, while Neville and Hermione were a step ahead of the elders.
"Welcome to the venue of the four hundred twenty-second Quidditch World Cup," Theodore said. "Quaint village, isn't it?"
Nodding, Harry looked about, curious about their location. They were obviously in a Muggle community, since Muggle bystanders were gawking at their choice of clothing. "We're dressed to try to blend in?"
"Yes. To be honest, most Muggles think we're going to some costume ball in the woods." Theodore waved at the densely foggy area to their right. "But we aren't actually going there."
Harry peered more closely and the fog seemed to come apart into fine mist. He saw that in the distance there was a whole village of tents. "Why?"
"Do you fancy walking through a small city of tents? I certainly don't. A hundred thousand people are packed together over there, all brimming full of energy for the match. No doubt that there are pickpockets and pranksters, too."
Even with his friend's dismissal, the tents beyond looked rather interesting and small among the figures milling about. Harry could hear the sound of fiddles being played...
"You look like you want to go check it out," Theodore whispered conspiratorially.
"Harry, dear, you don't need to associate with that sort of riffraff," Mrs. Longbottom's voice called out ahead of them.
Theodore's eyebrows quirked in surprise as he looked forward. He gestured towards the Matriarch and then pointed at his ears.
Harry nodded, sighing.
His friend patted his shoulder. "There, there. You're not missing much anyway. Just paltry magical trinkets you've never seen before."
"Oh, that doesn't make me want to go at all," Harry said with a slight glare.
"And I'm sure there are Hogwarts students we know, at this very instant co-mingling with one another, placing bets… nor would I be surprised if students from Durmstrang, Beauxbatons, or the Salem Witches' Institute were here…"
"What?" Harry asked feeling rather stupid about the last part.
There came a soft scoff. "I know you mainly study hexes and curses, but you should brush up on some basic knowledge known to the average witch or wizard." A pale hand was flung out towards the tents. "What I listed are the top schools in Bulgaria, France, and the United States, though it's a bit fuzzy about where precisely the first two are."
"Oh." They'd entered a forest now and followed a very wide path for twenty minutes. Theodore told Harry a little bit of trivia about each of the schools. All three were co-habited by either gender, and that each of them had a specialty much like how Hogwarts was known for its students trained in Transfigurations and Potions. Finally, there was a lull in the influx of information; Harry could hear waves crashing to the left of them and growing louder. They were obviously somewhere near a sea bank.
"So, you're doing alright? With Lupin mentoring you?"
His friend's grin was broad. "Yeah, he's a great teacher. I won't lie and say it's been easy, but it certainly isn't as bad as I expected." He leaned closer. "The transition—"
"Transition?"
Harry nearly jumped out of his skin, having expected Lupin. "Draco, you prat. What're you doing here?"
"To watch the Quidditch World Cup. Where've you been?" The Malfoy heir gave him a condescending look and tsked. "Oh, that's right. Ignoring my mirror-calls."
"You could have sent me a letter instead," Harry said, knowing very well that Draco's father wouldn't have allowed that.
Draco's lips pressed together, and then he looked at the both of them with narrowed eyes. "Well. I see Theodore has succeeded where I have failed."
"What?" Harry said for the second time in the past ten minutes, feeling like a complete idiot.
"Jealous, Draco?" Theodore jeered.
Wait… Jealous? Harry frowned. Surely Draco wasn't jealous of Harry's friendship with Theodore?
"Hardly. I only need to wait until you royally strike out so that he can benefit from someone with more experience," Draco sneered.
"Even if I did—which won't happen—you are not his type."
"How do you know what his type is?" As they walked, Draco gave Harry an appraising look-over. "I wager you haven't made it past the kissing phase with him."
Harry halted in the sea breeze and surrounded by trees in the largely empty forest lane. "Stop talking, you bloody prat," he said with atypical harshness, his face hot from anger. "I'm not dating Theo, you idiot. I don't even like blokes."
Crabbe and Goyle chuckled behind them; they too were wearing black suits.
"Ah," Draco said, while Theodore was shooting Harry a worried look. "Judging by Theo's reaction, I can see neither of you want others to know." Draco's expression turned more gleeful. "I could keep this a secret… for a favor."
"Take your bleeding favors and go dive off a cliff. There's one right over there." Harry pointed to the left in case the bastard missed it. Then he began to walk again. "Come on, Theo." His friend seemed to flinch a little under Harry's gaze. "Why is it that everyone is wearing black? Is there a funeral I've missed?" Theodore couldn't stifle his laughter. Harry grimaced. "It's not funny."
"Sorry," Theodore said, not looking sincere.
Answering smugly to Harry's right, Draco raised an arm to gesture towards himself and the others. "We of Pureblood know that black silk is the fashion of the day." He reached forward, plucking nonexistent lint off Harry's shoulder, "And that crushed velvet hasn't been in style since the Dark Ages."
"How I've missed your unpleasant jibes," Harry said with a tone laced with sarcasm, stepping to the other side of Theodore. He addressed his friend again. "Honestly, I would have liked to wear a shirt and denim trousers instead."
"Harry Potter, keeping it classy." Theodore flourished his hands towards Harry's attire. "I can just imagine the reviews on the fashion page of the Daily Prophet now. 'Boy-Who-Lived Sparks New Muggle Fashion Movement With Affordable Fabrics!' "
"Shut it, you git," Harry said and shoved him playfully. He froze for a moment and then dropped his arms. "Sorry, I overstepped myself."
Theodore blinked at him with a puzzled expression and then grinned. "No offense taken. I guess Neville is very hands-on with you?" He casually slung an arm around Harry's neck.
Throwing off the arm, Harry glanced towards the smirking blond and his two henchmen, who were pretending not to watch. "Don't take any more bold liberties with me or I won't be able to convince anyone that we aren't dating," Harry retorted.
Theodore only grinned.
"Very nice work on Longbottom," Draco said with obnoxious pomposity, changing the subject. Harry ignored him.
"I thought so too," Theodore said, "Did you put him on a diet?"
"No. It's regular exercise I think."
"You're training someone up for the Gryffindor team, aren't you?" Theodore waggled his eyebrows. "Worried the Slytherin Team won't be kept on its toes without any good teams to play?"
Shaking his head, Harry glanced towards his blood-brother who was still arm-in-arm with Hermione many meters ahead of them. "Honestly, if he's good anywhere, it'd be as Keeper."
"I think we ought to break his legs before we find out," Draco said lowly.
Sidestepping Theodore, Harry feigned punching Draco in the face, and he stumbled back, clutching his face. Draco was blinking a second later when he realized his nose wasn't broken. "Get back, you oafs. I'm fine!" Crabbe and Goyle obediently stepped back.
"Transylvanian Tackle. I've perfected it this summer," Harry said casually, shaking his fist as he began to walk down the path once more. "And if I find out you've bullied Neville this year, you will be sorry."
"I was joking! Honestly, you think I would hurt someone you care about?" Draco clutched his nose looking sullen.
"Yes," Theodore and Harry answered together.
"Given the right motivation," Harry added at the hurt look on Draco's scowling face. "You've got a ruthless decisiveness. I often spend too much time mulling over my options."
"A picky eater, eh?" came the unlikely jibe from Crabbe. Goyle snorted and began to laugh boisterously. The gaggle of adults in front of them paused, Lupin—and Mr. Malfoy, surprisingly—among them, and the Longbottom Matriarch glanced back at them with a very cross look; the two enormous teens quickly shut up.
Hearing that the crash of waves had grown louder, Harry sighed and looked off towards the sea that had appeared on the left of them. Neville and Hermione to the front of their procession looked far more inviting than hanging around his fellow Slytherins. The Gryffindors didn't tease him nearly as badly or as often.
"Shall we explain the joke, your Grace?" Theodore gave him a more serious look.
"Do you really want to spoil his boyhood innocence so early?" Draco countered arrogantly. "Perhaps his Grace is merely a late bloomer."
"You only say that because you want to corrupt him first," Theodore said with a wicked grin.
"I hardly think you'll be able to seduce—"
"I'm not that stupid, you twits, so the both of you will shut up because I am not dating Theodore and have no designs to do so in the future," Harry said with a tone of finality. He quickened his pace to a light jog and caught up with the group walking far ahead of them. He passed by the adults, not missing the way that Draco's father looked at him, like a pesky bug to be stepped on. Despite Mr. Malfoy beside him, Lupin looked angry, but unintimidated.
"Stay with our group," came the old witch's voice.
Harry turned and bowed slightly as he slowed to a sideways walk. "Of course, my lady."
Mrs. Longbottom resumed asking questions about Mr. Nott's travels in Tasmania. Her escort still held her arm in a gentlemanly fashion; Harry's arm would have tired out ages ago. Harry hastened to get ahead of the adults to where Neville and Hermione were chatting about the upcoming school year.
"Harry! Glad you could join us," Hermione said with unfeigned happiness. She glanced over her shoulder and when she looked back to the front she made a slightly disgusted face.
Neville swung his head around to see what she had seen. "What is it?"
"I can guess why Malfoy's father is talking to Professor—to Mr. Lupin." Harry's brother was still looking back with a confused expression. "Never mind that, Neville. I think you'd be more interested that your grandmother might be looking to remarry."
"What?"
"She and Nott's dad are flirting. Don't tell me you haven't noticed? Besides, Theodore alluded to that possibility after I arrived from my house."
Harry tried not to make a face. He was certainly not about to tell them about the recent teasing by Theodore and Draco.
"Oh… Oh. Yeah, that makes sense. Gran's been lonely for as long as I can remember," said the other teen. "But, 'Mione, she swore she wouldn't marry another old wizard. They have a tendency of dropping dead around her like my grandfather."
"Ah. Well, maybe she'll change her mind," Hermione said thoughtfully and then she turned to Harry with a very blank expression while they continued to walk at a leisurely pace. "Harry… you know Neville and I are non-judgmental about who you date—"
Harry could not suppress the annoyed scoff. When he saw that they both were giving him a look, he ground out, "I swear on my life that we aren't dating. It was only a bit of fun between friends."
"But I've never seen you with girls," Neville said, eyeing him with suspicion.
"Because I'm not interested," Harry said flatly. "I don't have time to deal with a girlfriend. Besides, who knows what this year is going to bring me. I'm better off without."
"Oh. … So, you would have a girlfriend if you weren't falling into trouble frequently?" Hermione asked, her eyes alight with curiosity.
Harry shrugged.
"Then, you'd go out with Ginny? Or maybe Sally-Anne?"
He blinked at her. "I haven't thought about it." He glanced at Neville who still looked a bit confused. "What now, Neville?"
"I'm not you, but even with all the trouble in the world I'd still want a girlfriend. I mean, don't you want to kiss them?" His brother smiled at Hermione, whose face turned a little pink as she looked away.
Harry let out an exasperated sigh. Was this what he had to look forward to as he got older? Constantly getting badgered about finding a partner? "Girls are nice, but I really don't see what the fuss is about."
"Oh. … Not even a little kiss?" Neville asked curiously.
"Not even a little," Harry repeated.
"Then you like blokes," Neville said simply.
"No, Neville." Harry closed his eyes, counting to three as he took a deep breath. Sometimes his brother had trouble listening. "Just because I don't want to kiss a girl, doesn't mean I want to kiss a boy. Really, kissing is about the last thing I'd want to do with anyone. Not with Voldemort breathing down my neck every year."
Neville made that little noise he always did when he heard the 'V' name. Harry tried not to get irritated.
Hermione frowned, giving Harry a look. "What about afterwards? Don't you want to be with someone? Get married and have a family?"
"No, not really…" He was fourteen. Growing up and having kids never came to mind. Harry mostly thought of Quidditch and homework and living until he was ninety-nine at least. Why would he care about kissing? "You can't expect me to enjoy mashing my lips against someone else's when I've got more important things to think about."
His classmates looked quite confused at him.
"Things like surviving to adulthood?" When they gave him a strange look, he sighed.
"Ah," Hermione said biting her lower lip in thought. "I think I understand. You want to spend all your energies on the present instead of worrying about what hasn't come yet."
"Yes." At least somebody seemed to understand him.
"But it's not really so bad," Neville insisted.
"You've kissed someone?" Hermione looked quite doubtful. Personally, Harry didn't appreciate the imagery of his brother kissing anyone. Flobberworms wrapped around one another in a slimy manner was not what Harry considered a good time.
"A gentleman never kisses and tells." Neville's face was much pinker than Hermione's had been. "Anyway, it's nice. So, don't think it's terrible just because it looks unpleasant."
"Nice to have someone stick their tongue in my mouth? I think I'd bite it off if someone tried," Harry said, wishing they would get bored with the topic. At least, they were nearly to the end of the forest.
"I suppose on an aesthetic level it does look quite vile, but I can't imagine it's so awful if people enjoy it so much," Hermione said with a clinical tone.
Obviously they were not going to get bored with talk of snogging any time soon. "I would rather talk about the upcoming game."
They emerged from the treeline and moved into the cool shadow of a gigantic silver stadium. Though Harry could only see a fraction of it, he knew it would easily be able to hold several cathedrals. He'd been to one before when he was very small… one of the only class trips he'd been allowed to go on, since he'd managed to not do anything odd for once…
"So," Hermione said, "Viktor Krum is ranked as the best Seeker in the International Quidditch League."
"Yes, and he's got a mind for strategy. I read his book on Seeking. If you want, I'll let you borrow it."
"I'd love that, thanks. I need some more books for leisure reading, and I've always meant to learn more about Quidditch because, you know." She suddenly looked quite distracted, pushing a flyaway hair behind her ear. "Because everyone else knows so much about it."
"You're excited about the match between Ireland and Bulgaria then?"
"Of course, I am," Hermione said with a semi-affronted tone, "Otherwise, I would have stayed home."
Then Neville began to excitedly list off the stats of each team, all of which Harry already knew since they had researched the teams together.
The late afternoon sun was slanting over the stadium. There weren't any wizards and witches waiting outside the entrance. The trio waited until the others caught up. Mr. Malfoy had vanished, but Draco and his two lackeys had remained. As usual, Draco and Theodore were quietly quarrelling about something; Harry briefly wondered if it was about him and then immediately hoped they weren't really.
"Prime seats!" said the witch checking the tickets that Mr. Nott handed her. "Top Box. Straight upstairs, midmost floor."
Draco provided three tickets to the clerk as Harry and the others moved up the stairs, which were carpeted in rich purple. Harry's group was the only one climbing the stairs. Once they reached the correct level, they walked forward into a spacious room with thirty-six purple-and-gilt chairs in three rows on either side of an enormous aisle splitting them down the center. Harry looked out and saw that they were eye level with the goal posts without anything obstructing their view.
Harry took a seat in the middle front left row, amazed. Rows upon rows of stands were crammed together in a cluttered fashion. He leaned forward, seeing that from this distance the oval field looked as smooth as the velvet jacket he wore. Craning his head up, he saw a great blackboard, easily the size of a double-decker bus. Gold writing kept dashing across it as though an invisible giant's hand were scrawling across it and then wiping it clean.
"You gawk like a country bumpkin, Harry," Draco said to his right. Neville had taken a seat on Harry's left, Hermione beside Neville.
"How many professional Quidditch matches have you gone to?" Harry said with reproach.
"I can't remember. Probably thousands."
"There you go," Harry said gesturing towards the pitch. "This is my first one. Don't ruin it."
"Then I suppose I'll give you these…" Draco offered a pack with two soft cylindrical objects that looked suspiciously like ear plugs. "I won't need them since the veela won't have any effect on me."
"Have any more?" Neville was looking hopefully over Harry's shoulder.
"I'm all out." A disgusted look flickered over Draco's features as Hermione leaned forward with a pack in her hand.
"Theo gave me a pack of ear plugs, Neville, but I've read all about veela. They won't have an effect on me." The bushy-haired Gryffindor passed it to the Longbottom heir.
"Is there a concession stand?" Harry asked. He was feeling a bit hungry and only had two rolls to tide him until the match ended, which could take hours.
Draco raised a hand and snapped. A very timid-looking house-elf barely taller than their chests gazed up at him cautiously. She was wearing a fluffy, blue bath towel like a toga. A gold rope bound her outfit up in the middle.
"Zippy, bring us some snacks."
"R-right away, Master Dra-raco." The house-elf disappeared with a crack.
"That poor thing," Hermione was saying loudly to Neville, "Enslaved to the Malfoy family. No wonder it stammers."
"You have a house-elf?" Harry lifted an eyebrow at Draco. House-elves couldn't come cheap, or Draco's father would have replaced Dobby.
"My father decided it was time that I had my own," the other Slytherin said, appearing to ignore Hermione's remarks. "Zippy's always had that stammer. It's probably why father got her so cheaply."
Suddenly uneasy, Harry glanced around and saw that they were the only ones in the Top box. Harry had this horrible suspicion that elderly Mr. Nott and Mrs. Longbottom might have gone off to neck somewhere… and then he realized something else as he looked towards Crabbe and Goyle, who squirmed under his gaze.
Seated directly behind Harry with Lupin in the seat to the right of him, Theodore blinked. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing." Harry narrowed his eyes at the blond prat seated next to him.
"Oh," Draco whispered as if he only just realized that Harry was still nervous about his father being around and then smirked. "Don't worry. You're not even old enough to claim your birthright as head of the Potter line. No point in making the feud public until you're of equal status…"
"Why?" Harry thought there was probably some political reason behind it.
Draco leaned a bit closer, "You see, people would want to know what you'd done to offend my father so terribly. There'd be a scandal."
"Oh." Well, that worked to Harry's benefit if Lucius Malfoy was keeping the slight against him hushed up. The last thing he wanted was someone else to make an extraordinary effort to make his life in the Wizarding world a hellish existence.
"What are you two talking about?" Neville's eyes were twinkling with curiosity.
"Probably nothing that they want to share with the rest of us, Neville. How much longer before the game begins?" Hermione leaned back to look at Theodore. Crabbe gave her a disgusted look, while Goyle maintained a halfway cordial expression.
Lupin waved his wand and glowing numbers appeared. "Hour, hour and a half, give or take a few."
"And why did we get here so early?" She looked as exasperated as Harry felt.
"Gran said to avoid the rabble," Neville supplied. "She doesn't much care for people who aren't…"
"Who aren't what? Pureblood?"
Neville flushed. "Unless they prove themselves."
"Like any proper magical person worth their salt," Draco said airily.
"I think blood purism is nonsense," Hermione shot back.
"Of course you would, Granger. It's in your best interest to believe that."
"And it's in your best interest to believe having pure blood means anything! Otherwise, what good would all that inbreeding do?" She scoffed.
"How dare you, you filthy—"
"Magic is magic," Harry said loudly over their argument. "It shouldn't matter whether you're descended from Merlin or a house-elf. So, shut up about it, the both of you. You're ruining the ambiance."
"Ambiance," Theodore snickered behind a hand.
"You shut up too," Harry said, his face growing hot.
"Harry, only blood-traitors and Muggle-borns believe that drivel," Draco inspected his nails.
"I didn't think your memory was so short that I'd have to remind you that Salazar Slytherin said it too."
"Come off it," Goyle said to Harry, "Slytherin, himself, not havin' any problems with Muggle in the blood? That's bollocks, that is."
"I spoke to his portrait last year. I'm sorry that I haven't yet found his journals to put the controversy to rest," Harry grumbled. His classmates went silent with that reminder. Neither of the Gryffindors looked surprised; Hermione must've told Neville about it. Lupin, on the other hand, kept his gaze squarely fixed on Harry. Harry felt a bit uncomfortable by the attention.
"Slytherin's portrait?"
"Right, you wouldn't know," Harry said to the adult, "By chance, I woke up the Founder's portrait last year and he said the only reason why he didn't like to teach Muggle-borns was that they're more likely to be murdered by their kin than Purebloods."
"Oh," Lupin said, giving Harry a very strange look.
"I thought you said Muggles weren't all savages," Draco said waspishly.
Hermione began irately, "They're not—"
"Our house's Founder lived nearly a thousand years ago," Harry interrupted, "Muggles have become much more progressive in matters of crime and justice, and they don't allow child mistreatment any more than the magical world does. And a large amount of them don't even believe in magic so that cuts down on hate crimes against magical folk."
"Then, how come you were mistreated?" Harry really wished his brother hadn't brought it up.
"The Dursleys are different. They knew about magic because of my mother, but they didn't really understand it. In their minds, they thought they were doing me a favor, trying to take my magic away from me so I couldn't hurt anyone in the Muggle world," Harry said. At the sickened looks on their faces, Harry continued, "I don't suppose you've ever heard the adage: Spare the rod, spoil the child?"
"I have," Lupin said gruffly, "Muggle Studies class, seventh year. Comes from the Judeo-Christian faith tradition. Essentially, it's the idea that if you let a child run amok without any sort of consequences, then that child will grow into a spoiled, selfish individual."
"Yes, exactly. They saw my accidental magic as a form of misbehavior, so..." Harry gestured aimlessly.
"I shouldn't have asked you." Neville looked absolutely miserable.
"Neville, it's alright to be curious."
"But taking away your magic? That's impossible. They wanted you to do the impossible!" His voice cracked, and then he began to tremble.
With one arm, Harry gave him a large hug, something he'd gotten into a habit of doing whenever Neville was upset. "Yes, it was impossible by the way they were going about it. If only they had known that all they had to do was encourage me to use magic until my undeveloped magical channels burnt out."
"Don't even joke about that!" Neville wailed, clinging to him. Harry was surprised to see him in tears.
"Oh, quit your caterwauling, Longbottom. Obviously, Harry's gotten over it," Draco said tightly.
"It's still upsetting," Hermione said with a sharp tone, patting Neville on the back. "The neglect Harry's relatives put him through shouldn't have happened in this day and age. The Dursleys ought to be in jail for it. They were let off too lightly if you ask me."
Harry's brother pulled back wiping at his face frantically. He was hiccuping in a rather distressed manner that Harry had to pat his shoulder reassuringly.
"Can't now. They don't even remember who I am." Harry chuckled at that.
Draco had quite a nasty look on his face.
With a pop, Zippy reappeared with a gigantic tray above her head. It was filled with a large assortment of candies, pasties, pies, cakes, ice cream sandwiches, and numerous other delicious snacks. Harry picked up a lemon pasty and offered it to Neville, who took it and immediately took a large bite of it between sniffles. Then Harry said, "Thanks, Zippy."
This was apparently the wrong thing to say. The house-elf shrilly squeaked, setting the tray to float in front of them. She pulled the neck of her bath towel over her head like a turtle. Harry blinked. "Zippy, i-is ver-ry sor-r-ry, Har-r-ry P-p-p-po-t-t-ter."
"Hold on," Harry said, "You don't need to—" Draco raised a hand and lightly touched Harry's shoulder, shaking his head slightly.
With an even, calming tone, Draco ordered, "Very good, Zippy. Bring us something to drink."
"R-right away, M-m-master Dra-raco." The yellow-eyed house-elf disappeared.
"What've you done to that poor house-elf?" Hermione looked as if she might conjure a stick to beat the prat if he answered wrong.
"Zippy was removed from an abusive home," Draco said slowly as if she was five. "Any time anyone expresses gratitude, the poor thing cowers. I would appreciate it if you didn't unnecessarily distress my house-elf again, Harry."
"Oh," Harry said dumbly and took a large bite of an ice cream sandwich. Hermione was blinking owlishly towards Draco, while Neville's eyes kept flicking between the two. Harry noticed that Theodore—and Lupin—stayed well out of the argument, which was likely the smartest option to avoid the ire of either the brightest fourth-year witch or the richest, snobbiest prat Harry had ever known.
"Granger," Draco said over his nails, like he was speaking to someone of very little importance, "I find myself unreasonably curious about how a community of supposedly nice Muggles where Harry lived didn't notice that he was malnourished?"
Hermione opened her mouth and then closed it as if she was having second thoughts about answering.
"I was never taken to the doctor, you prat," Harry said. "Did those records about my mistreatment never mention that?" At Draco's blank look, he clarified, "A Muggle doctor is the equivalent of a Healer. I only ever saw the school nurse, who's really more like a mediwitch in the Muggle world—I think—and she believed the Dursleys and my teachers when they told her that I was a compulsive liar. She just thought I was exceptionally short and skinny. I didn't look starved."
"Ah. Surely someone would have noticed the bruises and the broken nose…"
"Most of the attacks by Dudley and his gang happened after school. When I would wake the next day, any evidence would be gone, which meant nothing to show anybody who might have taken me from the Dursleys. Muggles don't have diagnostic spells, and they expect things to heal over a long timeframe not overnight."
A sort of horrified silence descended around Harry. At least no one was looking at him as something to be pitied.
"Muggles should not be raising magical children," Draco said with resounding certainty.
Harry had the disturbing thought of legislation passing through the Ministry of Magic that required the removal of Muggle-borns from their families. "If anything, the Ministry should have sent someone to do a magical check-up to be sure nothing was amiss. Oh, and training videos on how to properly take care of magical children would help. I mean, a Muggle can't exactly go into a store and say, 'Yes, I would like an educational book on raising my magical child. These strange events keep occurring around them… I can't make any sense of it. Could you help me?' People would think they were mad."
"A valid point. Muggle parents of a magical child should be required to go through a certification process as well as pass the Magical Non-Aversion Inventory with high marks…"
"So long as it's free or heavily subsidized," Hermione interrupted. "You can't expect Muggles to be able to afford much, can you?"
Harry was surprised when Draco nodded with a thoughtful frown.
Zippy reappeared with the tray of drinks. Harry grabbed the pumpkin juice, nodding graciously at Zippy who looked at him fearfully but did not appear so distressed.
As the stadium filled up with people, a roar began to fill the air consistently like the crashing waves of the sea near the forest. Harry could not see anyone on the far side of the stadium, only splotches of black and red or green and white. There was a crack of Apparation behind Harry and another nervous looking house-elf now stood by the last chair on the second level closest to the door. She kept eyeing the edge of the Top Box with terror.
"Must be Crouch's house-elf," Draco said to Harry's ear. Harry shot him a look and Draco leaned back into his chair.
"Harry Potter! My boy, I haven't seen you since that dreadful business with those Muggles. How are you?" It was Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic. Many more witches and wizards were trickling in behind him. He had come down the steps of the center aisle and leaned over the two floating dishes that Zippy had brought, extending a hand. Harry reached forward and shook the hand without standing up from his seat.
"This is Harry Potter," Fudge told to each wizard on either side of him.
Standing, Harry reached forward and shook their hands. Draco rose as well, offering his hand to each of the three wizards and announcing his name. The wizards' attention turned to Draco.
Still seated, Neville made a small noise in the back of his throat as if someone had cast a Full-Body Bind on him, except that his joints remained bent. Hermione remained seated as well; she was watching the politicians with detached interest.
The wizard on Fudge's right, wearing green and white, nodded in understanding and with an Irish accent said, "Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Potter. I'm Connor Kirkpatrick, the Minister of Magic in Ireland. You must be a fan of the Irish team."
Harry looked down at himself—at the green-velvet jacket that had the barest silver trimming and white shirt—and realized that that wasn't necessarily a bad conclusion to make. "I must be, sir," Harry said. He grinned at the Irish Minister of Magic when he gave a hearty laugh in response.
The other wizard beside Fudge wore black velvet trimmed in burgundy. After ignoring Harry's offered hand and shaking Draco's, the heavyset and stocky wizard was looking around at the supports and down at the pitch with a bored expression.
"This is Harry Potter," Fudge said loudly at who must have been the Bulgarian Minister of Magic. The thickset man looked at Fudge blankly. He didn't seem to know a word of English nor did he seem to recognize Harry's name. "Harry Potter… oh come on now, you must know who he is… the boy who survived You-Know-Who? You know, survived the…" Fudge mimed the lightning shape on his forehead and pointed at Harry's head.
When the Bulgarian wizard spotted Harry's scar, he started gabbling loudly—in Bulgarian, Harry supposed—and excitedly jabbed a meaty forefinger at Harry's forehead as well. The manners that Mrs. Longbottom had hammered into Harry's head over the summer was the only thing that stopped him from smacking the Bulgarian Minister's hand away.
"Sorry about that," Fudge, mopping his face with a handkerchief, said to Harry sounding very embarrassed as the man beside him carried on. "This is Mr. Oblansk—Obalonsk—Mr.—well, he's the Bulgarian Minister of Magic."
"Hello," Harry said to him politely, and the Bulgarian Minister dropped his hand and stopped whatever he was saying. He bowed lightly in greeting and uttered something guttural; showing that at least he knew Harry was being friendly.
"We're charmed to make your acquaintance, Mr. Obalonski," Draco said dryly to the foreigner as if trying to cover his mirth.
The man shot Draco a dirty look.
"Where is Barty Crouch?" Fudge asked out loud. "He's much better at languages than I am. Ah! I see him now. Fantastic—" Fudge must have noticed someone even more important walk in because his attention had turned to them when he raised a hand to greet someone behind Harry. "Lucius! How lovely it is to see you."
Surprised, Harry turned and saw a tall, long-haired platinum blond, clutching his walking cane. Lucius Malfoy appeared at ease and didn't even glare at Harry when he saw him looking. "Ah, Fudge. How are you? You've met my son, Draco, have you?"
"Yes, of course, I met your son! He's the spitting image of you, Lucius. How could I miss him?"
"Everyone ready?" A portly man in yellow and black Quidditch robes with a wasp on the front bellowed. His round face was gleaming excitedly. "Minister—ready to go?"
"In a few moments, Ludo," Fudge said as he insisted to the visiting Ministers of Magic to take their seats. Lucius took one long blank look at Harry and sat on the other side of Draco, nearest to the center aisle. Harry immediately turned forward and picked up another treat from the small table in front of him. After a cursory nod and scowl to Lucius Malfoy who returned the greeting in like, Mrs. Longbottom had taken a seat beside Hermione.
Harry twisted in his seat and saw that Mr. Nott was already seated to the left of Theodore. A rather severe-looking wizard with a thick, boxy moustache took the last empty seat next to Mr. Nott; the nervous house-elf asked the wizard in a bowler cap if he might want anything, and the wizard shook his head.
"Ready, Ludo," the British Minister of Magic cheerfully called.
The fat wizard raised his wand, and suddenly bright lights beamed upon the both of them.
Stepping to the very front of the window-less box, the British Minister of Magic directed his wand at his throat and placed it against his voice box, "Sonorus!" He cast.
"Welcome, welcome!" His voice boomed as if amplified by speakers. "As British Minister of Magic, it gives me great pleasure to welcome each and every one of you to the Final of the four hundred twenty-second Quidditch Cup!" The Minister's voice spoke over the roar of the crowd, booming into every corner of the stands.
The screaming and clapping was nearly deafening.
"Now, without further ado, allow me to introduce… the Bulgarian Team Mascots!"
"Ear plugs in!" Draco said loudly next to Harry. Harry popped them out of the package, nudging Neville in the side and miming him to do the same.
Ear plugs firmly in place, Harry leaned forward as a hundred beautiful women glided onto the field… except they couldn't be human if they were Team Mascots. This puzzled Harry for a moment until he remembered that Draco had called them veela; their skin shone moon-bright and their white-gold hair fanned out behind them without wind. All the Dark Arts training Harry ever had was on full alert as the females began to dance, faster and faster. They were mesmerizing to watch…
Neville and Hermione got up and grabbed the railing of the box.
"Hey! What're you doing?" Harry yelled at them
His brother blinked and then backed quickly away from the edge, his face pink. Harry saw that he'd only been able to put one of the ear plugs in.
Hermione was blushing scarlet as she retook her seat with Neville. Harry took out an ear plug and heard the angry wails of the crowd, while the veela moved to sit on the sidelines of the field.
"Interesting…" Draco said beside Harry, eyeing Hermione.
"Have a pack, Hermione!" Theodore tossed another to Hermione who caught it and fumbled with the package.
"What's interesting?"
"Veela typically bewitch men," Draco said as loudly as he could over the angry cries of the crowd.
"And, now," Fudge boomed behind Harry. Harry twisted around to pick up another full glass of cold pumpkin juice. "The Irish National Team Mascots!"
"Teenagers, mainly," Mr. Nott said loudly behind them, correcting Draco. "Men typically have better control over these sorts of things… It's not as uncommon for a teenaged girl to become ensnared by veela music as one might think."
Harry glanced at red-cheeked Hermione who seemed to find the adverts on the giant blackboard much more engaging than the spectacle put on by the Irish National Team Mascots.
Two great green-and-gold comets zoomed around the stadium. They looped around twice and then the largest rainbow Harry had ever seen arced across the entirety of the stadium. The crowd oohed and aahed as though at a fireworks display. The rainbow faded and the comets slammed into each other forming a great shimmering shamrock. Golden shimmers fell from it; At the excited yells of the spectators, Harry assumed it was gold.
"Gran told me about Leprachaun gold. Pretty to look at, but disappears after a couple of hours," Neville yelled on the other side of Harry.
Nobody from the Top Box reached to pick up the shower of gold littering the front.
The great shamrock dissolved and innumerable tiny men with bearded faces and red vests floated down to the ground, taking the opposite side of the field.
"Introducing the Irish National Quidditch Team!" Fudge announced.
Suddenly a group of seven Quidditch players flew in from the very top of the stadium wearing white and green. White and green smoke flared behind the players' brooms before another giant display of fireworks went off, forming into a tap-dancing leprechaun. The crowd screamed.
"And the Bulgarian National Quidditch Team!"
Seven red blurs swept through the seven green-uniformed players, nearly cobbing them as they passed. An image of Viktor Krum appeared on the blackboard across from the Top Box. Harry had admired the advanced techniques Krum had outlined in his book for Seekers. Now as Harry watched the Bulgarian Seeker, Harry was impressed by the way Krum moved on the broomstick. He was slightly envious actually.
"Let… the match… begin!" Fudge flicked his wand out and a bright ball of light flew to the middle of the pitch, signaling the start of the game.
It was intense. From the research Harry and Neville had done, the Irish had the better Chasers, but to see the numbers play out in person was amazing. Within ten minutes Ireland had scored three times while Ludo announced every play neutrally and as fast as he could. The Irish worked as a seamless team, their movements so well coordinated that they appeared to be reading one another's minds as they positioned themselves. As Ireland continued to score, the Bulgarians became more brutal. Their Beaters scattered the Irish Chasers, and then a Bulgarian flier was finally able to score.
"Ear plugs!" Draco yelled. Harry popped them back in, nudging Neville again, who managed to get them in before the veela began to dance. With earplugs in, Hermione was looking at the great blackboard which was split between showing Viktor Krum and the Irish Seeker, Aidan Lynch. No one jumped from their seats this time.
Suddenly the two Seekers began to dive, plummeting at great speeds towards the ground. The Irish Seeker smashed into the grassy field while the Bulgarian Seeker, Viktor Krum, spiraled back up. Harry knew what that was: the Wronski Defensive Feint. Viktor Krum was especially good at it. There was a time-out while healers tended to Lynch. Krum continued looking for the Snitch.
Once Seeker Lynch had been revived, the game began again. Within fifteen minutes, Ireland had pulled ahead 130 to 10. And then the Bulgarian Keeper fouled an Irish Chaser. Once the penalty shot had been taken, play reached a frenzied pitch. The Beaters on both sides were acting without mercy, particularly the Bulgarians who didn't care whether their bats were hitting Bludgers or people in Quidditch robes of green and white.
Harry winced when a Bulgarian Chaser deliberately ran into an Irish Chaser in an obvious blatching foul. Even through his ear plugs, Harry could hear the crowd's roar of anger, and the Irish won another penalty shot. The Bulgarian Keeper was not very good against the Irish Chasers.
Movement on the field below had Harry learning forward curiously; the two sets of Team Mascots had evidently begun brawling. The veela were no longer beautiful women; their faces had become bird-heads with sharp, cruel beaks, and long, scaly wings had burst from their shoulders. They were throwing handfuls of fire at the leprechauns—When the crowd roared even louder through the ear plugs, Harry looked up and saw that he had missed Ireland scoring twice again.
Both team's Seekers were diving once more. Harry had no idea why Krum's face was bleeding profusely. Maybe he'd been hit in the face with a Bludger. Harry looked up at the scoreboard. He pulled out his ear plugs to ask Draco who he thought was going to catch the Golden Snitch. Even if Krum caught the Snitch now the Bulgarians would lose by ten points—
"Another goal by Levski!" Ludo bellowed out. Harry grabbed another cup of pumpkin juice from the tray and drank it down thirstily; he'd have to stop by the loo before long. "And the Seekers are diving!"
A resounding scream of delight billowed out from Bulgaria's supporters, and Harry braced himself on the chair as he plugged his ears with his fingers; the noise had been deafeningly painful after hearing nearly nothing for nearly the whole match. And then, Krum held the glint of gold high in the air.
The crowd roared with approval.
"I DON'T BELIEVE IT! IT'S A TIE!" Ludo the announcer called out. "Krum caught the Snitch, but there's no clear winner with 170-all! This is a first for the Quidditch World Cup! This is an historic event!"
"Ludo!" Cornelius Fudge's fingers were clutching his hat and traveling along the brim in a most anxious manner. "This has never happened in an official event. How am I supposed to announce the winner, when we haven't got one?!" The overlarge wizard in the black and yellow robes shrugged.
"Vell, that vas unexpected," said a baritone voice farther down the row from Harry. He turned and saw it was the Bulgarian Minister of Magic. Harry's eyes met Draco's mischievous grey ones; the prat had known the adult could speak English. Harry nearly laughed at Fudge's outraged expression, but the British Minister of Magic began to look fretful once more. Harry soon found out why.
The Top Box became magically illuminated from the inside-out, primarily focused on the giant golden cup held up by two panting wizards —who must have ran straight up the stairs—for everyone to see.
Fudge was sweating quite profusely as the crowd's noise grew confused the longer the Minister of Magic made no attempts to make an announcement.
"What am I supposed to say?!" Fudge said to Draco's father, who gave him a dainty shrug.
"I'm sure you'll think of something Cornelius," Lucius said with careful sympathy. Didn't Draco say how much his father wanted Fudge out of office? Harry's mind raced. This would surely ruin Fudge's popularity.
Beyond the Top Box, the crowd was growing ruly. The Irish Minister of Magic tipped his hat back, "We'll have rioting on our hands if you don't diffuse this, Minister Fudge."
"Any suggestions would be helpful," Fudge said, eyes darting between the other two Ministers, who offered nothing. The crowd's roar was beginning to overwhelm the Top Box. Something sparked in front of Harry. Hundreds of charmed notes were blocking the view of the field. The wizard in the bowler hat, Crouch, was now standing towards the front. He swiped his wand, and the notes went up in flame.
"Why don't they do a rematch?" Hermione hissed out over the crowd.
Neville gaped at her. "Can't, not since 1907. One time, a winner wasn't decided for the Quidditch World Cup for two years because of rematches!"
"And now they've no contingency plan," she said.
"Couldn't they retire the Seekers and Beaters?" Harry yelled over the crowd, which quite suddenly hushed as Fudge moved towards the speaking platform. "And give each team three shots to get a Quaffle past the Keeper?" Because the crowd was reduced to angry buzzing, Harry was easily heard by everyone in the Top Box. "Then whoever makes the most shots wins…" He finished, much more quietly. Very important-looking people in fancy outfits were staring at him and whispering.
Fudge's desperation seemed to melt away as he spun to face the match commentator. "Could we do that, Ludo?"
"Extraordinary measures, Minister!" The wizard said with an un-Amplified voice and clapped him on the back. "The night is still young!"
Looking back out to the crowd, Fudge took a deep breath. After he'd applied another voice-amplifying charm, his voice boomed, "Er. Good evening, everyone! As you can see, we've arrived at quite a sticky situation! The teams were equally matched!"
The crowd roared out their dissatisfaction.
"Yes, well. A tiebreaker is needed… unless you would prefer the teams to share the Quidditch World Cup, mm?"
They booed, echoing over the field. Both of the team's supporters were in agreement.
"No, of course not! What fun would that be?" Fudge raised his hands in a placating manner. "Luckily, I have arrived at a solution! Beaters and Seekers, your valiant efforts during the game are to be commended. However, in this, your services won't be required. Your interference will result in penalty shots for the opposite team."
There were angry shouts from the team and the supporters. "He's stolen your idea!" Neville said heatedly. Harry shrugged. It wasn't really Harry's idea, since he co-opted it from the usual way to sort out a football match that had ended in a tie, and this way Fudge would remain a thorn in Mr. Malfoy's side.
"Now, now. Hear me out. You'll like how they'll break the tie!" Fudge raised a hand to quell the angry roar. "First, the referees will provide a Quaffle for each team's Chaser. Then, the Keepers must defend their goalposts from the Chasers! Once a shot is attempted, the Chaser may not attempt one again."
This seemed to placate the crowd from shouting to puzzled chatter.
"Whichever team makes the most goals from the onslaught WINS the Quidditch World Cup!" The British Minister of Magic threw an arm towards the glittering, golden trophy which gleamed under the lights.
There was a moment of silence and then the stands shook with the sound of wild approval for this novel idea. Harry wasn't about to inform anyone about the solution's Muggle origins, but he didn't miss Mr. Malfoy's directed look of calculation at his son nor Draco's smug, smirking face. Harry frowned at the prat.
"Let the tiebreaker BEGIN!" The lights dimmed in the Top Box and faded to darkness once more.
Keepers Zograf of Bulgaria and Ryan of Ireland floated to the front of their goalposts. The Irish Keeper didn't look very composed compared to Zograf's stoicism.
"And the Keepers are at the ready!" Ludo announced. "Looks like the Chasers from each team are putting their heads together. I wonder if we'll see a new Ploy born!"
There was another loud whistle, and each Chaser, clutching a Quaffle, approached the other team's Keeper. Both team's fliers had come up with the same idea—"It looks like each team will try for a simultaneous attack! Will the Keepers be able to defend enough goals?"
Another whistle cut through the air, and there was a barrage of Quaffles. Zograf blocked one, but with a beautifully executed Starfish-and-Stick Ryan knocked two Quaffles away.
"Zograf saves one!" Ludo bellowed, "But Keeper Ryan manages to block two Quaffles! IRELAND WINS!"
Ireland's supporters gave an almighty roar of appreciation, though Bulgaria's fans were attempting to match them with loud booing.
Smiling genially, Ludo raised his hands, and silence came. "Let's give a round of applause for the gallant losers—Bulgaria!"
The sound of cheering and stamping filled the enclosed space. Harry blinked. The Seekers and Beaters were standing along the sides of the Top Box, watching—and, in Ireland's case, celebrating their opponents' loss. The Bulgarians stood there, nonplussed by the commotion. Seeker Krum looked a real mess. Two black eyes were blooming spectacularly on his bloody, stoic face. He was still holding the Snitch in one hand and a Nimbus Two Thousand and One in the other. He seemed a lot less coordinated on the ground, being slightly duck-footed and distinctly round-shouldered. Grinning stupidly, Lynch, on the other hand, was predominantly supported by Beaters Quigley and Connolly.
"Come now! You played well, Bulgaria!" Minister Fudge held out a hand and one by one the Bulgarians filed by to shake hands with him—"Vulchanov and Volkov, truly showed off Bulgarian teamwork, eh?"—and the other two Ministers. When Krum's name was spoken, the whole stadium gave him an earsplitting roar drowning out Fudge's buttery congratulations. The Chasers and Keepers had finally arrived, landing on the elevated platform and stepping down to join their teams. "Yes, nice work, Dimitrov, and Ivanova, excellent throws! Levski, that last goal was tricky, wasn't it? Zograf, good show!"
Ludo made a sweeping gesture to the Irish. "Let's give another round of applause to the winners of the four hundred twenty-second Quidditch Cup!"
Upon a crashing wave of jubilant sound came the Irish team. "Troy, exceptional scoring! Mullet, best flier around and beautiful too! Moran, they couldn't have done it without you, and Ryan! What a phenomenal save! Conolly and Quigley, fantastic defensive batting! Better luck next time, eh Lynch?" Fudge said as each Irish flier came forward for their handshakes from the ministers. Keeper Ryan was grinning happily as the three Chasers lifted the World Cup into the air beside their Beaters and Seeker. The crowd below thundered raucously. Harry clapped until his hands went numb.
At last, the Irish team mounted their brooms and flew from the Top Box for a flying lap of honor around the stands. Their brooms spewed more white or green clouds of smoke.
Harry turned to make a comment to Draco, but the prat was gone as well as the drink and snack trays. He blinked and looked around. Crabbe and Goyle were missing as well. "Neville, where's Draco gone?"
"He left with his dad."
Looking over his shoulder at his brother, he noticed that Mrs. Longbottom was no longer sitting down beyond the distracted Hermione, either. The elderly witch was standing beside Mr. Nott as she spoke with multiple wizards and witches in gaudy outfits. "While we have a moment, let's go find a loo." He said to his three friends and then jerked his head towards the exit.
"Good idea, I'm about to pop," Theodore said.
His brother glanced towards Mrs. Longbottom and then nodded curtly with a determined expression. Hermione didn't make a comment; her expression seemed distant. Harry looked in the direction of her gaze and saw that she was looking at the group of Bulgarian fliers who were speaking to Mr. Obalonski.
"I'll cover for you," Lupin said behind them. A startled Harry looked at the adult, who gave them a wan grin. "Go on. You singlehandedly averted an international crisis, Harry. You ought to have a little fun while you can."
Theodore stood up, while Neville began to look more anxious by the moment. "I love this plan."
"Thanks, Mr. Lupin," Harry said, face splitting into a smile.
"Call me Remus or Lupin."
"Right. I'll do that when you call me Potter."
Lupin raised an eyebrow.
"It hardly seems fair that you get to demand that when I never gave you permission to call me Harry, sir," he said.
"You certainly inherited that cheek from James, Potter," Lupin said, appearing a bit sad to use the family name.
"Thanks again, Lupin."
Standing, Hermione brushed down her dress and pushed a few flyaway hairs behind her ears. "Let's go then," Hermione said with a breathless tone, "before we're caught. We should probably leave with some dignitaries so we don't stand out."
So, the four casually stepped on the other side of the tall, bulky foreign officials and waited.
As the dignitaries went to leave, the four teenagers left with them.
They stopped by the loo first, and soon after they made it to the grassy slopes outside. The sun had long since set, and the night air made the sweaty velvet suit too chilly for Harry.
Neville hadn't appeared to breathe properly until they were off the purple velvet that covered the floor of the stadium. "I can't believe that worked…"
Enjoying that they'd gotten out from under Mrs. Longbottom's stern, overprotective mothering, Harry patted his shoulder. "Anything's possible if you put your mind to it."
"We should keep moving before she notices we've been gone too long. Even with Lupin's help, she's bound to notice," Hermione said.
"Yeah, you don't ever want to underestimate a retired Obliviator," Theodore agreed. Neville hadn't moved from his spot.
"But…" Harry's brother looked deeply conflicted.
"What's the point in sneaking away if you spend all your time fretting about being caught?" Theodore said. "If you ask me, might as well enjoy your freedom while you've got it. When do you think the next chance you'll have to be out from under your Gran's thumb besides during school?"
A rather mischievous grin appeared on Neville's face, and his eyes lit up. "You're right!" He jogged ahead of them towards the forest, "Well, what are you waiting for?"
"I can't believe that convinced him," Hermione stated with a wry tone.
"It helps that he's gotten more confident," Theodore said. His eyes lingered over Harry. "I wonder who we should thank for that…"
With an annoyed tsk, Harry brushed by his Slytherin friend as he settled into a quick lope, easily passing Neville. "Race ya!" He tossed at his brother.
"You're on!"
Laughing, Harry ran down the center of the path which was mostly empty since people were generally hugging the path nearest to the trees where there was more light by the lit lanterns. Above them, Harry could see a sea of stars through the branches of the trees.
"Stop daydreaming, Harry, or you'll lose again!" Neville pounded past him.
At a moderate pace, Harry gave his brother another five seconds and then he pushed off the road much harder. With each foot's landfall he darted forward. When Harry ran fast enough, sometimes he felt like he was flying. That feeling filled him now as he dodged the few magical folk in his way. Minutes crawled by as his heart pounded and his breathing filled his ears. His goal wasn't that far ahead of him, and his lungs and muscles began to burn in a sensation he was coming to enjoy.
At the exact moment, they had both arrived at the edge of forest where they first entered. "Let's call it a draw," Harry told Neville's bewildered face, who glanced at the dust that had been kicked up in Harry's wake.
"You've been letting me win, haven't you?" Through Neville's breathy tone, Harry could hear disappointment.
"Yes, but—"
"So you felt sorry for me and let a loser like me win, is that it?" Neville's tone was an odd mixture of hurt pride and anguish.
"You're not a loser. Not even close!" Harry grabbed him by the arms to stop him from fleeing. "At the beginning of summer you wouldn't have been able to run as fast or as far or as long as you've just done." When Neville's face only twisted in confusion, Harry wished he could express himself as eloquently as Draco, as clearly as Theodore, or even as bluntly as Hermione. "Your persistence in trying even when you fail is your greatest strength. You've only had three months and you've already achieved so much! Neville, look down the path! That was at least a twenty-minute walk and we ran it in half that!"
When Harry stepped back, Neville looked down at himself and at the path they'd raced down. "You're right. Blimey, Harry you're right!" He let out a whoop of excitement. "I'm going to try out for the Quidditch Team this year!"
Harry shook his head. "Not this year, Neville. You have a whole year of training to do."
"You don't think I'm good enough?"
Theodore had finally arrived, not a hair out of place, while Hermione seemed quite out of breath, red-faced and clutching her side. "What I think Harry—" she gasped to take in great pants of air.
Neville stared at her. "You alright?"
"Oh, I've a stitch in my side—" She panted out, "It's nothing."
"She's trying to say that there's no Quidditch at Hogwarts this year," Theodore said, not at all out of breath.
"What? No Quidditch?!" Scuffing his foot, Neville hung his head, his expression crestfallen. "How? Why?"
"You haven't told him about that yet, Harry? I'm surprised," Draco drawled from a place on the roots of a large oak tree. Crabbe and Goyle were sitting on their rumps on either side of Draco's shiny black shoes, grinning at the four who just arrived.
Harry shot him an annoyed look and then said to Neville, "I didn't want to needlessly lower your spirits in case I was wrong about the Triwizard Tournament." Harry stepped closer to the trio by the oak tree, wondering what they were waiting for when a sudden burst of light in the black sky caused him to turn. So, they had wanted to watch a spectacular view of fireworks…
"They're bringing that back? The Triwizard Tournament?" In the light of the fireworks, Neville's eyes were huge.
"Why do you look so concerned?" Harry asked, eyes turning again to the glittering colors in the sky.
"Well," Hermione said with a huff, "It's because people die in that tournament."
"Yeah, 'Mione's right. Every time it's been brought back, someone's died!" Neville agreed. "Why would they bring that back?"
"It raises international cooperation between foreign-born wizards and witches and, besides, don't you know the Ministry has already placed rules in effect to protect us underage witches and wizards?" Draco said with his usual air of superiority.
"Your father had a hand in this, did he?" Hermione asked sharply.
"Oh, I assure you that if my father had this whole Triwizard Tournament enterprise would've been scrapped immediately. The wizard in charge of International Magical Cooperation Department at the Ministry of Magic would never allow it. My father simply implied to the Minister that he believed it was a very good idea in case Fudge was having second thoughts. The Minister can veto the whole process, you see. That's why there hasn't been a Triwizard Tournament called for over fifty years."
Harry was having a bad feeling about the whole affair. "Draco, have you heard of a witch who's gone missing?"
Draco blinked thoughtfully. "Well, yes. But she usually gets lost. It's said that she has an extremely bad sense with directions. I don't know why they don't just pair her with someone who'll keep her more productive."
"She went missing just recently? A month or so ago?"
"Yes…" Draco narrowed his eyes at Harry. "How do you know about Bertha Jorkins?"
"Bertha… I am afraid that I cannot allow you to leave..." The memory of the high-pitched cold voice tore through Harry's mind. He needed to warn Professor Dumbledore.
A great explosion sounded across the valley of tents, and a ball of fire, not fireworks, erupted upward. The screams of delight and excitement instantly soured to wails of terror and fright.
Harry's breath caught in his chest as he watched chaos and destruction erupt below them. Swarms of people ran away from the tents to the safety of the forest, and Harry could see a group of five black-robed people setting tents alight left and right from their wands.
"Death Eaters," Neville said tremulously next to him. "But how?! Security's tight! How did they get in?!"
Hermione answered with a deathly soft tone, "They probably got in like anybody else. Nobody's stupid enough to Portkey in with Death Eater robes on."
Harry glanced at Draco, who was leaning with self-assurance against the tree trunk, and then at Theodore, who looked grimly at the destruction below. They were both curiously silent. Neither Crabbe nor Goyle said a word either, though Harry could see Crabbe's eyes were filled with dark malice and excitement at the devastation in front of him. Goyle's expression was carefully blank and he did not appear to be happy about the situation.
So, Draco and his two pawns had been told to stay here and watch the devastation unfold, had they? Harry reasoned that their fathers must be responsible, the fourth could be Theodore's Da and the fifth was probably Severus Snape. Harry looked back at the horror taking place to the people down below. At least the ones who were running past didn't look as if they'd been terribly injured.
"This is horrible. We should do something!"
"We need to stay safe," Harry told his brother. "The Ministry is responsible for the safety of the campsite, not us. We don't even have our O.W.L.s yet."
Neville was breathing heavily. His wand was out and it shook in a tight fist. "I can't stand it!" He sobbed out. "It's too horrible!"
"You must, Neville!" Hermione said with a firm voice.
Harry grabbed Neville's shoulder before he stupidly ran onto the field that was still emptying of panicked magical folk. "I want to, too, but how do you think Gran would feel if we were hurt?"
He sniffled, rubbing angrily at his tears. "I hate them. I hate Death Eaters. My mum and dad. They'd still be with me…" Neville's voice cracked and he let out another sob.
"Mine too," Harry said darkly, looking at his four roommates who gazed warily back. Harry thought that Neville's parents were some of the sweetest people he had ever met. "At least yours are alive."
"B-but what's the point if they d-don't even know who I-I… who I am!" Neville wept into both of his hands, his wand growing wet from tears.
"The point is that you can visit them. I don't even know where my parents were buried."
As more explosions sounded and multiple CRACKs of Apparation followed somewhere beyond the forest, Neville sobbed. Harry knew he must be releasing years of pent-up anger and sadness over the loss of his parents. Harry comforted him as well as he could, even though he was terribly awkward about it.
Absolutely no other witches and wizards chose to remain at the edge of the forest, besides the seven teenagers.
"Hermione! What're you doing over here?" Ron's voice pierced the night air.
"We stopped to watch the fireworks, and then—"
He came forward, giving her a look-over. "No one's hurt, are they?"
She blinked at Ron, obviously noticing that the Gryffindor hadn't looked at anyone else when he said it.
"No, only bad memories," Harry said simply, keeping his hand on Neville's shoulder as he continued to cry. "He'll be better soon."
"Weasel-bee, I didn't expect to see you here."
"Malfoy," Ron's voice hissed across Harry's head. "Which Chiz-pit did you bloody crawl out of?"
Draco sneered, "Did you come a month early or did your father sell your little hovel to get better tickets?"
"I bet your father's down there with the rest of them! Everyone knows he's a supporter of You-Know-Who!" Ron retorted angrily.
"Well… if he was, I wouldn't be likely to tell you, would I?"
"ENOUGH!" Hermione roared, standing between them with her wand trained in warning on one and then the other. "This isn't the time or the place for your petty quibbling! I swear you both are worse than an old married couple!"
Theodore snorted loudly in surprise. Crabbe and Goyle began guffawing.
"Shut it!" Draco commanded. Harry was unsurprised that they promptly went quiet. "Well, Granger, that's rich considering how you and Weasley bicker constantly. However, seeing as how neither a Muggle-born nor a blood traitor would know the proper etiquette to maintain a hospitable environment between public enemies… I wonder if you'll manage to stay safe with Death Eaters lurking about. Crabbe! Goyle!" In a few moments, all three of them had disappeared into the darkness.
"Bloody Slytherins," Ron muttered and then, after Theodore cleared his throat, growled, "…Bloody Malfoy and his goons."
"Did Malfoy just say that it's our fault he's a rude, obnoxious twit?" Hermione's face had twisted with disgust. "That smug little bastard! I can't stand him!"
"You did punch him on the nose that one time," Harry reminded her and in the dim light of a half-moon she scowled. "And Ron hasn't learned to control his temper when Draco baits him either, has he?" Harry finally dropped his hand from Neville who was rubbing his face raw.
"This is not my fault!" Ron yelled. "That bullying wanker is always taking shots at my parents and my brothers and Ginny!"
"You misunderstand me," Harry said. "I'm not saying that Draco's intentions excuse his behavior, nor do I condone his behavior. He's a prat and proud of it."
"But you're blaming me! What you meant to say is that 'If you didn't have a ginger's temper, Malfoy wouldn't be such an arse!'" Ron shouted.
"I wasn't suggesting…" Harry sighed to stop himself from explaining. "I'm sorry, alright?"
Ron's mouth gaped open as he pointed at Harry. "You're sorry? Malfoy's the one I'm mad at!"
"I never intended to slight you or your family. In fact, I think your mum's wonderful. I still have the jumper she made me last Christmas. I was thinking of wearing it just to annoy Draco."
In the faint light, Ron's ears turned bright red as he continued to gape at Harry.
"I think he's in shock, mate," Theodore said to Harry.
"She keeps your thank-you card on the mantle next to photos of her children," Hermione said.
"Oh," Harry said, touched. He'd only met the big-hearted Mrs. Weasley twice before, but that was years ago for only a brief moment at the train station and a short while in Diagon Alley.
"I-I told her you were just being a bloody Slytherin… but you… you actually think so? You think my mum's wonderful?" Ron looked as uncertain as he sounded.
"Just because I'm a Slytherin doesn't make me a bad person. I'm still who you met on the train… being Sorted into Slytherin never changed who I was," Harry said.
Ron's mouth had opened into that stupid expression he'd had when he found out Harry was the Boy-Who-Lived.
Hermione nudged Ron. "Well, say something."
"Merlin…" Ron paused, looking at Harry with fresh eyes. "I've been a complete knobhead towards you…"
"You're an arse to everyone, not just Harry," Theodore teased in a friendly manner.
"Hey!" Ron protested as they laughed.
"Mosmorde!" A harsh voice cried behind them, and a great greenish light flung up into the dark sky.
"Oh, shite," Theodore said, looking up at the skull-and-snake aurora that had appeared in the sky blotting out the stars. "We need to scatter before the law-keepers—!"
Several clouds appeared around them, coalescing into wizards and witches with wands pointed at them, and Harry shouted, "DUCK!" wrapping arms around Neville and Hermione to make sure they did so.
Theodore and Ron dove to the ground as multiple red Stunning Spells were lobbed in their direction. Harry felt his hair ripple from the passing spells, which crossed each other and slammed into tree trunks, sparking—
"WAIT! STOP! That's my son!" A wizard shouted furiously as he jogged towards them.
Harry released his hold on Hermione and Neville and sat up. With the bright light of the aurora in the sky, Harry recognized the terrified man striding towards them as Arthur Weasley, Ron's father.
"Ron, Hermione! Are you okay?" The wizard helped them up and gave them a quick inspection. When he received an affirmative, he turned to Harry, Neville, and Theodore who were brushing themselves off, "Kids, you okay?"
"Dad, that's Harry Potter with Neville Longbottom and Theodore Nott," Ron said.
"Harry Potter?" Mr. Weasley said incredulously. "My word!"
"Which of you did it!" The same wizard in a bowler hat from the stands pointed a shaking wand into their faces, his face taut with rage, "Which one of you has conjured it?!"
"Crouch, you can't possibly—" Mr. Weasley began.
"We didn't do anything!" Ron said loudly, looking indignant. "What did you attack us for?"
"Do not lie!" The wizard demanded. "You've been discovered at the scene of the crime!"
"What crime?" Harry asked, hating that he could not hold his wand in the wizard's face as he seemed so keen to do to the five of them.
"Barty!" Mr. Weasley reproved, "They're just kids!"
"It's the Dark Mark, Harry," Hermione said in a hushed tone, nodding to the sky. "It's his Mark."
"You mean…?" Harry said, staring up at the apparition glowing ghostly in the sky and thought of Voldemort. "Do you think the person, who stood back over there," Harry was careful not to think of who that might have been as he waved in the general direction of where he'd heard the incantation, "Conjured it so the Death Eaters could escape?"
"Oh, stood over there, did they?" Crouch said, turning his popping eyes to Harry's face; disbelief was etched all over his face. "You seem well-informed about the range limits of the spell, Mr. Potter."
Harry looked around at the ring of witches and wizards around them. Besides Mr. Crouch, none of the others appeared to think it remotely likely that the Hogwarts students had conjured the snake-and-skull illusion. On the contrary, many of them were squinting through the dark trees in the direction that Harry had gestured.
"He's right you know," a witch in a woolen dressing gown announced. "One of them must have Conjured it to distract us. They'll have escaped the Ward limits and Disapparated by now."
"Our Stunners went right through those trees… there's a good chance we got someone," a short man with a golfer's hat said lightly.
"All of you, this way!" Mr. Crouch commanded, heading into the darkness.
Harry looked back up at the aurora fascinated. It looked rather pretty for it to represent something so evil.
"You haven't read that book I sent you last Christmas, have you?" Hermione said quite severely to Harry. "Otherwise you would have known about that." She enunciated the last word like it was something very foul, gesturing to the sky.
"Sorry, I've been doing homework, bonding with Neville, and suffering through the tutors that Mrs. Longbottom forced upon us," Harry said.
"Which you will thank me for at a later date, dear!" came a sharp voice. Standing next to Mr. Nott, Augusta Longbottom was seething with anger. Her face held high spots of color. "I've been looking everywhere… for the both of you!"
"Augusta, a pleasure to see you though I wish it were in better circumstances," Mr. Weasley said politely. Mr. Nott immediately took Theodore aside and began to speak to him quietly.
Harry blinked. If Mr. Nott had been with Mrs. Longbottom this whole time… Then he wasn't a Death Eater, was he?
Mrs. Longbottom nodded to acknowledge Mr. Weasley's words but her attention was fully on Harry and Neville.
"H-hi, Gran," Neville stammered. "We're alright. We never made it to the tents before they were attacked."
Harry looked down at the field now filled with charred bones of tent supports and miscellaneous other things still smoking. It was a very sad sight, he thought.
"And a very good thing!" She growled, stepping closer to Neville to inspect every part of him. Neville allowed her. "It would have been your luck that you tripped and was kicked in the head by that stampede of riffraff!" The old witch suddenly threw her arms around her grandson and pulled him into a tight hug. "I feared for the worst. Don't you ever scare me like that again."
"Sorry, Gran," Neville mumbled against her shoulder. Harry smiled at the sight of them.
"No!" A high-pitched voice shrieked behind them. Harry whipped around to see that a house-elf had been caught, Crouch's house-elf. "No, master! Not clothes! Winky didn't do it! Not clothes, master! Please!"
Harry knew this was the only way to set a house-elf free from their magical contract: present them with proper garments. He didn't know why it was so alarming to the little house-elf, unless Mr. Crouch provided a good home for her.
"What's going on over there?" Hermione asked worriedly. "Will they hurt her?"
"Probably not," Theodore said. "There's laws against that sort of thing in Britain."
"We better go, Ron," Mr. Weasley said. "Molly will have our ears if we don't make our appearance quickly..."
Ron didn't seem to want to move. His eyes were affixed upon the sobbing house-elf.
"Ron," Mr. Weasley said more urgently.
"See you later, Hermione, Neville, Harry, and Nott," he said. The Gryffindor's eyes were reluctant to leave the scene of the sobbing house-elf surrounded by wizards and witches. He turned and followed his father deeper into the woods.