Author's Notes:

The PUBLISH function here on FF dot net finally seems to be working for me (it was up and down for months for a reason no one could explain to me, but appears to have been fixed at last), so I'll continue updating this story here until all of my stories are moved over to AO3 later this year. When that happens, this story will be removed from FF dot net and housed only on archiveofourown dot org. I hope you'll follow it there, too!

Mint is a member of the deadnettle family.

Again, Theo is based on Azriel from ACOTAR, and Blaise based on Cassian.

Thank you to my friends and beta-readers, LittleRedAnn, ladysashi, and gjeangirl for help with this chapter and inspiring my muse again for this story. Thank you for introducing me to so many new slang terms too, ladies! I love them!

The first round of duels finished about an hour after they'd begun. Winners were announced on a chalk scoreboard in the judge's row, which happened to be directly in front of my seating area, at the bottom of the ring. Through the Omnioculars, I read the list that would be going on to the next phase tomorrow and cheered again at Ginny's name at the top.

I noted Zabini and Diggory had also both won their duels, too...

I groaned as I read Cormac's name next. He'd advanced to the second round.

Ugh!

Was it too much to ask for my git of an ex to get stunned and stay stunned, preferably for the remainder of Calenmai? Could I cash in my karma chips to make that miracle happen?

I read on, got to the bottom of the list, and then whipped out my pad of paper and a Muggle pen and took down all of the names. Jotting a few notes next to each contender, I considered each of them carefully. It was a solid lineup, and it had me worried for my best friend's chances. Draco was an amazing spell caster, but sometimes luck was a fickle thing, favouring you one minute only to trip you up the next.

Speaking of my companion, he gently tugged on a strand of my curly hair, which my assigned house-elf for the day had decided to leave down and loose when putting me together this morning. I turned to him, setting my scribbling aside for the moment.

"They called the second group. I'm up," he told me. "Will you come down to the ring with me?"

"Of course." Why would he think I'd not? "I'm your personal cheerleader this week, aren't I?"

"And human shield. I expect you to protect me from unforeseen hexes, Granger."

"I'd do that anyway," I reminded him. "It's in the 'best friend' contract."

His answering smile was dazzling.

I took his arm as we stood and headed down towards the pedestrian walkway. The crowd was thicker now that the first group had finished, as people made their way to one of four destinations: either to the tents set up out back that contained the portable loos, or outside to catch the other Calenmai events if their interest in the duels had waned, or to the opposite end of the main tent to the refreshment stands, or to the betting tables where markers were already being placed on the second group of duelists.

Pure-bloods definitely had gambling fever, I thought as we passed the gaming area and heard the wagers being made. Everything from who would be first to score three hits to specific spells to be used by a particular duelist was speculated. And it seemed the sums were quite high; some bets were enough to cover my rent for the next three months! One would think some of these people might show some restraint and withhold the majority of their funds for the next four nights worth of gambling competitions, which were part of the overall Calenmai contest, for the wagers were bound to head into high-roller levels at the card and dice tables.

Perhaps some of them were hoping to make enough on the dueling wagers to cover any potential losses tonight? Who knew. The rich lived in another world, one I couldn't fathom. Yes, I'd grown up in a comfortable lifestyle, more so than the Weasleys or Harry, but I'd been taught the value of money at an early age and my parents hadn't been extravagant in their spending habits. As an adult, I lived within my means and on a budget. After all, it wasn't as if a reporter-slash-artist made big money.

Honestly, that was one of the reasons why Draco's over-the-top clothing spree had shocked me down to my little frugal toes...the other being him knowing my correct sizes, from tops to dresses to shoes. And underwear, apparently.

We moved on, making our way down to the duelling area and taking up our place at the side of the second circle, where twenty minutes earlier Zabini had just won his match. Draco stripped out of his coat and I held it for him, and then helped to tie his official duelist armband around his left, upper arm. From the corner of my eye, I spied onlookers and gamblers passing back and forth along the arena's pedestrian promenade, sizing up the competition.

Terrance Higgs took up his position on the opposite side of the circle from us, and he suddenly did not look eager to start, as if he knew the inevitable outcome against someone with Draco's experience and was not looking forward to the beat-down he was going to take.

"This will be an easy win for you," I told him, picking a piece of lint off his sleeve.

His lips twitched with amusement. "Are you sure about that?"

"Quite."

"Such faith you have in me, Granger. I'm unworthy."

I snorted. "Quit fishing for compliments. I don't stroke male egos, especially yours."

His chuckle was low and sinful. "How about stroking me somewhere else, then?"

"Win and I'll consider it."

Where had that come from? I couldn't believe I'd actually said‒

Draco's finger gently slid down the side of my cheek, making me shiver. "Careful. I might just hold you to that."

My breath caught in my throat at the blatant flirtation in his voice.

He stepped back then and turned to enter the dueling circle, leaving me wondering how much of what he'd just said was truth and how much was simply Draco being...Draco.

~.~.~.~.~

As expected, my best friend clobbered his challenger in record time. In fact, his was the first duel to be called during that second group of duelists, and in less than ten minutes. A series of fast and accurate jinxes and a hex were all that was necessary for Higgs to go down.

Fortunately, the man took his defeat well, even as it was clear his pride was smarting. He shook Draco's hand, bowed out to the crowd, and then was off to seek whatever points he could muster by engaging in some of the other opportunities that Calenmai offered. I got the impression, in fact, that he'd only joined the duel because it was expected of him, not because he'd really had the heart for fighting.

"Congratulations," I offered to Draco as he stepped out of the ring, after being officially declared the winner.

"Was it everything you'd expected?" he joked with a lopsided grin that reminded me of when he'd been a younger man having just lost his virginity to me.

I took his arm and we headed off for refreshments, deciding to skirt the dangerous innuendo, because a.) he loved teasing me, as he'd earlier demonstrated with the facetious offer regarding stroking things, and b.) I knew his words to be nothing more than silly banter. He was coming off an euphoric win, and everything out of his mouth was bound to be tainted by a little braggadocio. That was Draco's way. After a dozen years, I'd gotten used to our back-and-forth, and expected to be the occasional butt of his jokes.

"You went easier on him than I'd expected," I noted with a clucking of my tongue. "Not a single curse in the bunch."

He gave a small, faux gasped as if I'd insulted him. "Are you insinuating I'm going soft?"

"It's the old age," I played along. "Don't worry, happens to all men eventually, as I understand it."

He threw his head back and laughed, drawing curious eyes from among the crowd. "Oh, Granger, how I adore your forked tongue!" Pulling my hand to his lips, he quickly pressed a kiss the back of my knuckles. "You're more a snake than I am some days."

I blushed with a furious intensity at the feel of his soft mouth against my skin again, and my brain turned to mush as the blood within my veins suddenly roared towards other, more interesting places within my body. All I could think about was where he could put those lips to better use...

Between one blink and the next, Nott was suddenly standing beside us at the drink table, as if he'd stepped out of the shadows as easily as stepping between rooms. Behind him, Zabini, strolled up, all lion-like, with a powerful, arrogant stride.

"Congratulations, Draco. Brilliantly done," Theo offered.

"Thank you, Theo."

Blaise offered his hand to Draco, who shook it. "Here's to hoping I don't have to face off with you, mate."

"You as well," my best friend stated. "You definitely gave Montague a run for his money earlier."

"I was lucky this time," the other man admitted. "Wasn't playing at my best this morning."

Theo threw his friend a sly, sideways glance. "Too much nocturnal activity, probably. Lack of sleep makes one dull-witted and slow, or so I've heard."

The tall Italian shoved his shoulder into Nott's in a playful gesture. "Spying on me again, eh? Perv. Get your own and stop listening in on mine."

"It's not as if you're covert about it," Theo replied, "especially when you forget the Silencing Charm on your tent. I'm sure the entire camp heard you last night."

I certainly hadn't, and now I wondered who Zabini was entertaining. Was it Ginny...or someone else? And was it a last minute fling, or was he auditioning mistresses, too? I almost wouldn't put it past him, except he'd certainly done his fair share of drooling over Gin when he'd seen her appear for the sign-ups yesterday. She, of course, had cut him dead, refusing to look at him, but I'd thought from the expression on his face then that he'd taken that merely as a personal challenge, and not as a defeat. Perhaps I'd been wrong?

"You're up next," Draco pointed out to Theo, noting the armband on the man's sleeve. "Pyrite doesn't stand a chance."

Theo shrugged. "Francis is tougher than he looks. I might just lose." He turned to me, giving me his full attention. "Would you be so terribly disappointed if I failed in this, Ms. Granger?"

I gaped at him, unsure how to reply to such a strangely worded question.

Zabini barked a laugh.

Draco growled. "Nott..."

I glanced up at him in surprise. Was that actually a jealous sound emanating from his throat?

Theo seemed unperturbed by Draco's irritation. He merely gave his friend a cat-like smile and pulled a glass of Champagne off a passing tray. That, of course, only made Draco's angry-frown deepen. Some silent man-war raged around me then as I looked from first one, then the other, seeking answers. What was going on between these two? I'd thought them brothers in Slytherin for years, but now it seemed like Nott was intentionally provoking Draco where I was concerned. But to what end? "It's hot in here, isn't it," I said, feeling the awkward tension and attempting to alleviate it. "They should have installed fans." I glanced around at the tent's ceiling in irritation. "For all the ACOTAR's elaborate preparations for this week's event, you'd have thought temperature regulation would be at the top of their list. I'm definitely going to note that failure in my story."

I reached for one of the drinks on the refreshment table, not looking too closely at it, and took a quick sip of it to cool down. To my delight, it was freshly squeezed lemonade...

I nearly choked on the pretty mint garnishment as I inhaled it by accident.

"Well, Ms. Granger?" Nott persisted, not noticing my sudden predicament, his attention glued to Draco's expression instead.

I blindly reached out and grabbed Zabini's massive bicep for leverage when I started hacking. "Er, ack!" I sputtered with a wheeze, my eyes watering as I coughed around the piece of greenery stuck in my throat. "H-Help!"

Finally noting my distress, Draco rolled his eyes, tsked, and took my drink away with one hand while pounding me on the back with his other. His "aid" only exacerbated the problem, however, causing the leaf to lodge itself deeper down my windpipe. I grabbed at my throat and nearly passed out on the spot.

Why on Merlin's left tit wasn't anyone running for help? Hell, just shouting for it would be fine by me.

"Her lips are turning blue, mate," Zabini calmly pointed out, looking down at me with mild concern. "You'd better hit harder."

"Quit looking at her mouth!" Draco snarled at the man, and gave me one final, decisive whack that nearly dislodged a lung.

I blarged up the piece of mint into a napkin.

Classy, I thought as I slipped the folded napkin into the hand of an unknown member of the wait staff who stood nearby and wiped at my eyes. "S-sorry," I muttered around a final cough.

A fresh glass of Champagne was passed to me by Nott.

"Here, try this instead," he suggested.

"Not sure alcohol's the best remedy for her right now," Zabini cautioned. "She nearly asphyxiated a second ago."

"Nonsense, that's the best time to be drinking," Theo countered. "Besides, it does wonders to open one's eyes and clear the air, or so I've been told."

There was double-speak in there somewhere, I knew, but I was still too busy reeling from the humiliation of nearly suffocating on a member of the deadnettle family to put it together. "Thanks," I replied instead and swallowed the whole glass in a single go, hoping to wet my dry throat and cool down my temperature at the same time.

Unfortunately, the bubbles once again did their job of tickling my nose, however, and I immediately sneezed...all over Theo. Not a dry sneeze, either.

Zabini nearly keeled over in laughter.

I could have died on the spot.

"Oh Merlin, I'm so sorry!" I ran around like a chicken missing its head then, trying to find another napkin to clean up the snot currently sprayed all over poor Nott's jacket. I finally just grabbed one off a passing waiter's forearm and then turned and began dabbing at the stains on the man's coat lapels. "Is this Italian silk? It is, isn't it? Just my luck." Jesus, it was going to cost a fortune to dry clean! "I'll pay for it to be laundered, I promise."

With a chagrined look, Nott used a handkerchief to wipe the front of his coat, accidentally painting an unattractive streak of goo across the lovely fabric. "No need, no harm done," he kindly said, although his unperturbed tone obviously belied his true feelings on the matter. "It's easily cleaned up."

I glanced over Draco, wondering why he wasn't attempting to help me cover for my inelegant mistakes...and found him smirking so hard at his friend that he looked downright demonic.

I drove a sharp elbow into his gut for being so rude.

He scowled back at me for harshing his wicked.

Zabini was howling by then and had standing tears in his eyes.

Turning back to Theo, I again conveyed my sincerest apologies for the accident, feeling the day's humiliation right down to my toes. "I'm not usually this clumsy or awkward," I attempted to explain. "It's very unlike me." It really wasn't, either, and it struck me as odd that I'd had two bizarre mishaps in as many hours, not to mention that strange moment earlier when I'd felt a rush of lust pass through me with such force, that I'd nearly orgasmed on the spot. What was it about Calenmai that was affecting me so?

Thankfully, Theo was gracious to the bone, giving me an affectionate smile. "No need to explain or apologize again, Ms. Granger. These things happen. However, on that note..." He dipped a polite bow from the waist. "If you'll excuse me, I should go and warm up for my match now."

"Right, good luck!" I wished him and watched him melt back into the crowd without a backward glance.

"Could he be anymore obvious?" Draco growled, keeping an eye on his friend's disappearing form. "I expect he'll be humping your leg next."

Zabini was nearly rolling on the floor now, coughing from laughing so hard.

"Oh, do get up. You're causing a scene," I reprimanded the man. Then I set the soiled napkin down on the nearby table, took my original lemonade drink back from Draco, and eyed it to be sure there were no hidden chunks of fruit or other such nonsense to gag me again as I went in for round two. "Why does the thought bother you, about Nott's flirtations, I mean?" I asked him with a sigh. "I've already told you I'm on to his attempts at breadcrumbing."

"His what?"

I forgot who I was talking to. "It's a kitchy Muggle phrase that means he's flirting without the intention of actually following-through. It's harmless, really...unless of course I was receptive to his advances."

Draco's uncharacteristic lack of a witty or cutting retort had me glancing back up at him in curiosity. He met my eye, his expression carefully neutral.

"And are you?"

What a bizarre question! I decided to toss it back at him.

"And if I was?"

"Would you really allow him to court you?"

"What if I did?"

He sighed, looking quite plagued by my refusal to give him what he wanted. "Why can you never answer a question put to you, except with another question?"

I grinned at him. "Have you met me?" I glanced over at Zabini, who was up on his feet again, but clutching his stomach like he was in pain. "Are we going to need to ask your house-elf to bring you a change of pants?"

The man waved me off, finally catching his breath enough to talk. "Ooh, forget Calenmai, you three are going to fill my entertainment quota for years to come." He slapped a meaty hand down on Draco's shoulder. "Good luck with it all, mate."

"Where are you off to?" I asked him.

"Cooking Contest," he replied, grinning like a loon as he headed towards the direction of the tent's exit. He threw over his shoulder a loud parting shot, though, one that had several witnesses turning to listen in. "Have to cheer my girl on, before some busy bee comes buzzing around us next, deciding to stick his nose in my honey, too."

I watched him walk off.

"He's odd," I decided.

Draco shrugged. "He's Italian."

I looked up at him. "You have strange friends."

Luna Lovegood breezed by just then, throwing me a wave. She was wearing a pair of pastel blue fuzzy sandals, leopard print leggings, and an overly large t-shirt with the image of a golden retriever on the front wearing human glasses.

Draco snickered. "You were saying?"

Feeling my cheeks pink, I reached into my repertoire for a coping mechanism and found 'deflection' to be my best escape. "Why does it bother you that Theo's pinned his sights on me? It's not as if he's serious. We both know that."

"He's after me, not you," he said as he took my drink from my hand, set it on the table beside my empty Champagne glass, and then grabbed my hand and pulled me alongside him back into the main crowd. "Theo's always liked to poke at me when he thinks I'm being stupid."

"And how does your oafishness and immaturity possibly involve me?"

He tossed me an annoyed look over his shoulder. "I swear, you are the most infuriating female I've ever known," he admitted with a resigned sigh as we moved through people to find a new seat from which to watch the remainder of the duels.

I huffed in doubt at that contention. "Even more so than your mother?"

His lips twitched with amusement, but he sighed in concession. "Perhaps you're a close second."

With that admission, we let drop the topic of his meddlesome friends, my bizarre ones, and cocktail trimmings with murderous intentions, and focused instead on our main mission: manoevering through the mob and then up to a higher elevation of seats, where the crowd was thinnest and the heat not so oppressive. As we sat next to each other on the bench, I got out my Omnioculars and my hand-fan, settling in to watch the remaining Group 2 contenders...constantly aware of how my foot touched Draco's the entire time, and how he didn't move away.

~.~.~.~.~

By one o'clock, all of the duels were over and the board for those advancing to Round Two, set for tomorrow morning, was posted:

.

ROUND TWO (begins Wednesday at 9:00 A.M.)

CIRCLE 1: Cedric Diggory (Day) vs. Charlie Weasley (Summer)

CIRCLE 2: Elizabeth Burke (Summer) vs. Tomas Selwyn (Winter)

CIRCLE 3: Blaise Zabini (Winter) vs. Oliver Wood (Day)

CIRCLE 4: Pansy Parkinson (Spring) vs. Symon Yaxley (Spring)

CIRCLE 5: Draco Malfoy (Night) vs. Evan Rosier III (Night)

CIRCLE 6: Millicent Bulstrode (Winter) vs. Luna Lovegood (Summer)

CIRCLE 7: Cormac McLaggen (Spring) vs. Theodore Nott (Night)

CIRCLE 8: Malrissa Kettleburn (Autumn) vs. Ginny Weasley (Summer)

.

ROUND THREE (begins Wednesday at 1:00 P.M.)

CIRCLE 1: ?

CIRCLE 2: ?

CIRCLE 3: ?

CIRCLE 4: ?

.

Presumably the six rings would expand to eight for Round Two, and Round Three's contestants would be filled in when the eight pairs were whittled down to four.

"I'm a little fuzzy as to the prize at the end of all of these contests," I confessed to Draco as we turned from the board and headed out with the rest of the crowd to watch the other contests going on beyond the dueling tent.

He stepped us to the side to allow another couple to pass by before answering. "The top male and the top female contenders who score the most points throughout the competition become the May King and May Queen."

"And?"

On Monday night, after the voting in of the new ACOTAR, Kingsley had mentioned the May King's and May Queen's crownings to be done on Saturday, but the actual purpose of the positions were not discussed by anyone else, nor were they mentioned in the books Draco had lent me, so I didn't understand the significance of those titles in this context.

He gave me a mocking side glance, as if the answer should have been obvious. "On Saturday night, after they're selected, the May King and Queen unite their magic to light the Calenmai bonfire. Because it's their magic that casts the spell, the pair are immune to the bonfire's enchantment."

"They don't have to participate in the partnering-up unless they want to, you mean?"

"Exactly. They can pick a mate from the crowd, and if that person agrees, they'll be joined that night under the same lust spell as everyone else, but they can also just as easily decide not to select a partner and be free of the spell's calling," he added. "The May King and Queen are the only participants given a choice."

Now that was an interesting twist: the two people responsible for enslaving everyone else to lust magic were the only ones granted freedom from it.

Definitely a Slytherin move.

"I see," I said, and finally did. "So this whole thing is just one more game to you."

He stopped us before we entered the tent where the Cooking Contest was well underway, taken aback by the vehemence in my tone. Drawing us to the side and around the tent to a quiet, non-pedestrian area, he assured we were away from prying eyes before demanding me to explain what I'd meant.

"You've been playing the odds since you first heard of Calenmai's resurrection, I'm betting. This is the chance you've always wanted to assume a powerful and influential position within the community, to prove your father wrong about you...and all you had to do to achieve it was sell your body and your future to the possibility of a bad match with an unsuitable witch!"

His face went stony and his eyes glacial at the mention of Lucius as his motivation. I noted the unspoken warning in the depths of his gaze, but refused to be cowed by it. I had my piece to say, and by god, I was getting it out before things went any further this week!

"Don't you see? By participating in Calenmai, you're weighing your chances for power against love, Draco, just like your father did once upon a time!"

We both knew I was referring to the fact that Lucius had signed on to become a Death Eater under Voldemort the Mad's regime long ago, during the last wizarding war. The man had sold his soul in the hopes of riding to glory on the shirt-tails of his master's success. When he'd failed, he'd dragged the Malfoy family name through the mud, and had heaped upon his wife and son a legacy of shame that had never fully been wiped away in society's eyes.

"I'm fighting for both power and love," he corrected me. "Unlike Lucius."

"And what if you can't have your cake, and eat it too?" I demanded in a low hiss, worried by the fact that both of us were now raising our voices and could be overheard by anyone passing by. "You've already seen to the former by taking the High Lord of Night's seat, but what if you lose the May King's crown? I won't be able to help you select someone suitable and you'll be stuck with whatever witch the bonfire decides for you!"

He frowned at that, as if he was angry with me for bringing up the obvious, but I wasn't quite finished.

"You'll have your power, Draco, but at what cost?"

There, now I'd said what I'd been dying to say for a while now.

I knew these were all things I should have mentioned the day he'd come to me with this ridiculous idea of joining Calenmai, but in truth, I'd been knocked completely off-kilter by his blasé attitude about the whole gig then, and later, after he'd sent me the history books for research, I'd allowed my own personal curiosity and journalistic ambitions to get the better of my common sense. The moment I'd stepped onto the grounds where Calenmai was to be held, though, I'd been consumed by jealousy and fear, too. I was losing Draco, losing my best friend, the man I'd loved for almost half my life. He was going to belong to someone else by the end of the week, this was our goodbye, and the knowledge had me twisted up into knots.

All of these thoughts had been bubbling under the surface since he'd sat in my office and told me he was going to bargain away his bachelorhood, and for some unfathomable reason, my mouth had picked now to throw them down between us, like a cast gauntlet, in the desperate hope of talking Draco out of continuing this charade.

It wasn't too late to walk away, right?

He was silent for a bit, and I could see in his face how he was carefully considering what I'd said. When he replied, though, he was entirely too nonchalant, as far as I was concerned, especially over something as important as his future.

"Granger, stop worrying. You didn't think I'd leave something that important to fate, did you? I've got a plan."

I should have expected that, actually. Draco never did anything with less than three reasons—and he never did anything without a plan in place first. Still, I was a pragmatist. I was used to things cocking up. Maybe it was because those schemes usually involved Harry and Ron, though...

"What if it fails?" I asked, my voice sounding as small and unsure as I felt right then.

"It won't," my best friend reassured me.

I sighed. "You sound entirely too cocky."

"Have you met me?" he countered, throwing my earlier words back at me.

I couldn't help but give a little smile at that. "You've taking an awful lot for granted with this whole scheme so far," I pointed out. When he prompted me for an example, I replied, "Well, for one, what if you'd lost the vote for High Lord of Night?"

He shrugged like it wasn't even an issue. "I wasn't going to."

"And how would you know that, unless-"

He'd rigged it in advance by discussing it with families he knew would pledge to Night.

"I've got a plan."

Draco smirked at me as I figured it out.

"You're cheating," I reminded him in a whisper, just in case someone was listening in. "That could get you booted from the event and you stripped of your appointment as High Lord."

"I'm not cheating," he assured me. "This entire event is designed around the idea of courting for favours, everything from getting members of families to call for me to be High Lord of the Night Court on voting night to convincing people to throw their earned points behind me for May King. I simply made as many of those arrangements in advance as possible to assure a victory."

"Wait, what?! What do you mean someone can throw their earned points to a candidate for May King or Queen? Are you implying you can rig that vote, too?"

He gave me a very Cheshire Cat-like grin, all feral teeth and dark implication, and I knew whatever he was about to tell me would grate on my principals. "It's not rigging, per se. Anyone who earns points this week can voluntarily give them up to another contestant, if they want. It's a show of support for a Court, and sometimes a bribe for better, more personal favours later, after the event ends."

See? I knew it.

"Let me just understand you," I attempted to clarify before I gave myself an aneurysm from eye-rolling so hard. "You're saying the contests are a real-life version of 'Survivor'?"

He frowned at the reference. "You're using a Muggle-ism again, aren't you?"

"It's a television show, yes."

His eyes lit up with boyish interest. "Do tell."

There was a specific reason I had, over the last several years, refused to allow Draco any access to my telly when he came over to my flat: the man was obsessed by the horrible thing. When he'd first discovered it, he'd spending whole weekends glued to the front of it, shouting at it in joy, in anger. I'd even once caught him sniffling over the 'Titanic' movie, although he adamantly denied it later. He was terribly addicted to 'the fidiot box', as Harry liked to call it. "You shouldn't be watching such trash, so I'll say only this about it: you win by besting others at contests, and then hope that in the end, they'll vote for you to be the best 'Survivor', despite the fact you tromped all over them to get to the top." My cunning companion seemed entirely too intrigued with the concept for my taste, if the gleam in his eye was anything to go by, so I attempted to keep him on topic. "So, effectively, you're saying you can work hard all week to win the contests, but lose the main prize as a result of bargaining, blackmailing, and/or muckraking the competition at the last minute, yes?"

"Got it in one."

"Well, that hardly seems fair."

Draco shrugged. "Fair has nothing to do with politics, love. Haven't you caught onto that by now?"

I thought I had. Apparently, I hadn't understood just how deep the pure-blood obsession with power-playing went, however. It seemed it was much like their gambling habit, in a way. "So then Calenmai isn't just about showing off your physical skills, but about flexing your political muscles, too, just like in 'Survivor'?"

"And excelling at the fine arts of manipulation and negotiation," he conceded.

"I see."

I started to worry that Draco might not have the solid connections to pull off a point coup for the May King crown if he lost the competitions this week. Yes, he was well-liked by many in our generation, thanks to his former status as an Auror and now as a successful Prosecutor for the Wizengamot, but he also had his share of enemies, too. Cormac, for one. And then there were others who were merely acquaintances or on the fence about him, and they might not lean his way when push came to shove, but instead throw their support behind their closest friends. I knew Neville would most likely give any of his points to Ron, for instance, and the Weasleys would always support their own. As for the Slytherins in this competition, who ever knew what they might do?

The more I considered it, the more my concern overrode what he'd earlier said about a plan.

As if reading my thoughts, he patted my hand and started leading us back around the tent to its entrance. "You worry entirely too much. I know you're used to dealing with idiots on a regular basis-" Meaning my other friends, I was sure. "-but in this, trust me."

I sighed. "You're expecting miracles, Draco."

He chuckled. "I'm a Malfoy, Granger. Not expecting, demanding."

"That's an awfully arrogant statement."

"I'm an awfully arrogant man."

That he was.

It was one of his more charming traits, however, so I could easily forgive him for it.

I still worried, though. Just on principle.

~.~.~.~.~

A little later, after we'd walked the circuit of the Cooking Competition, taking in all of the delectable delights being prepared by contestants hard at work dicing, chopping, sauteing, and baking, my stomach rumbled to remind me that I'd skipped lunch.

To my embarrassment, Draco had heard and with a chuckle, led me over to the area of the glade designated as the dining area, where the Court tables had been laid out the night before. To my delight, afternoon tea was being served, and many other people were similarly partaking of the finger sandwiches, scones, fruit, and tea varieties laid out by Hannah and Cho's catering service.

As we sat by ourselves down the end of the Night Court's table, I continued to press him on the Calenmai tradition, determined to get to the bottom of his scheming, and hopefully glean a bit more information about the event which the books had conveniently skipped. I was writing an article, after all, and this line of questioning could be considered research... "You know, discounting the May King and Queen, the point of Calenmai is that all of you are participating in a competition where the ultimate goal is to be bound to and have sex with a partner that you may or may not despise, one way or another." I slathered a good bit of clotted cream over my lemon scone. "The idea of actually having any sort of choice in the matter is actually an illusion, you realise."

He agreed. "Technically, you're right. Winning the contests and being selected as May King or Queen is the carrot dangled before our eyes to keep our interest away from what this event is really all about: a magically arranged marriage. Everyone unmarried and of age submitted to that deception when they agreed to participate in the event, though, and they did so of their own free will." He shrugged, unconcerned. "I still intend to win."

"Making the best match possible from the pluckings or refusing them altogether," I dryly replied. "I get it."

He smirked, and I wasn't sure if that was in reaction to watching Marcus Flint sniffing after the Kettleburn witch as the two went to town at the food selections and then turned to sit at her table together, or if it was because of the subject we were discussing.

"Hedging my bets, love. You know better than anyone that's what I do."

I sipped my tea rather than answer him with the obvious, and glanced around the glade.

At the Summer table, George Weasley was wooing Sally Ann Perkes with a description of his newest WWW invention, while Rosalind Orpington was making cow-eyes at Julian Gamp over at the Day Court's section.

I went back over all the names and faces I recognised at this event and an odd thought suddenly occurred... "You know, I never realised how many of us between the ages of 20 and 40 hadn't married yet," I stated with some surprise. Daphne Greengrass, Charlie Weasley, Darabell Mulciber, Terrence Higgs, Lucinda Fawley, Lavender Brown…and those were just the ones twaddling around having tea. There was a whole mass of others out on the main thoroughfare or competing at one challenge or another inside the parade of contest tents beyond the glade. And that wasn't even counting my half-blood and Muggle-born friends who weren't in attendance: Harry, Justin, Cho, the Patil twins—all were single. "I'd assumed most of these people would already be hitched, given the wizarding world's push to start families young."

Draco didn't reply, and when I turned to him, I noted his eyes were watching me, as if he was waiting for me to figure out that particular riddle.

"That's why the older generations pushed for Calenmai to be resurrected, isn't it? Not for pure-blood ideals, but because they were worried about our generation not reproducing."

He smirked and took another sip of his cucumber water. "I'm sure some of the old bats were intending to push blood purity back to the forefront with this shenanigan, but you're right. Bringing back the belief in blood purity and segregation wasn't their main concern. It was the lack of children born to our generation that has them and the Ministry worried."

"So why not open Calenmai up to half-bloods and Muggle-borns, too? Increasing the pool of candidates would surely net them what they were after."

"Because some of the most conservative Sacred Twenty-Eight families wouldn't support the idea if they changed the tradition, as most of them are blood purity snobs," he told her frankly. "Shacklebolt needed their buy-in, literally, as it's not a government-sponsored event. Money from my family's coffers, and the vaults of the others here today, paid for all of this." He waved his hand around at the elaborate tents, the dueling arenas, the food tables, and the Court pinions marking the edges of boundaries blowing in the breeze above it all. "Alienating us would mean losing that cash base, and the event would have failed due to lack of funding."

"But why would Shacklebolt care if it failed, since it's not a government-budgeted event and he's a progressive candidate anyway, which means he's against the concept of 'blood purity' to start?"

The moment I asked, I knew the answer.

"An entire generation waiting to marry, purchase property, and have babies affects his government, specifically its tax base," I said with dawning understanding. "Continuing to live at home with our parents nullifies the possibility of the government collecting new property taxes and lowers the inheritance tax rate for pure-blood children like you, who are richer than sin. Less income means the government can't function at peak performance, budgets freeze, and it can't entice new workers with salary incentives to come work for it." I sighed at such an obvious scheme. "So, Calenmai is a political tool, but not necessarily the one I was thinking. Its revival is an unofficial Ministry idea to keep the population steady or increasing so they can continue to generate a steady stream of taxes."

"I wondered how long it would take you to put it together, pet." He clapped me on the shoulder. "Brava!"

Jesus, no wonder Kingsley Shacklebolt was head of the Court of Thorns and Roses! He'd spectacularly manipulated his entire pure-blood citizenry to further his government's agendas. The slippery eel!

This was going to make a great story if I framed it right. It might even make the Minister of Magic my newest best friend. I was practically salivating at the thought of the political capital this piece could bring me, especially as it meant I'd get to stick it to that no-good scrum, Robards, who'd kept me from advancing at the Ministry years ago when I'd been in M.L.E. and interested in government work.

Draco bent his head to mine. "You look like you're about to come," he teased with a husky growl. "Are you dreaming of how you're going to triumph with this story, my dear?"

His nearness and the way he spoke to the heart of me, knowing me better than anyone ever had, was enough to make me shiver. "That obvious?" I joked, trying to keep the arousal from my voice.

With a lazy dragon's gaze and a wicked smile, he said, "Only to those who know and love you."

Love... If only, I thought with an agonized heart.

Lucky for me, the Master of Ceremonies picked just that moment to announce the beginning of the Exploding Snap tournament in the main tent in ten minutes, allowing me an escape from where this conversation seemed to be headed. I hurriedly finished off my scone and my tea, and tucked away in a napkin the remaining finger sandwiches to take away.

"Come on," I urged my best friend as I stood from the table. "Ron's competing in this one. I saw his name on the board earlier."

Draco made a face and assumed a suffering expression, but he accompanied me to the next contest without complaint. Of course, I had to hold his hand and practically drag him behind me the whole way. Still, it gave me an excuse to touch him, something I thought I might not be able to do for much longer, if Draco's plans cocked-up, and so I took full advantage of being able to paw at him while I could.

TO BE CONTINUED...

Author's Notes:

This one is for YOU, those who have stuck with the story despite my delays, who kindly voted for it to win the Granger Enchanted Survivor's "When Worlds Collide-Best Crossover Story" for the 2018 Facebook contest, and for those who have and continue to review and let me know your thoughts. I am overwhelmed by the love for this tale, and hope I can do both series justice in this strange remix.

MUCH LOVE TO YOU ALL,

- RZZMG