It was the morning of the second task of the Triwizard Tournament. It was in February, and the seating was around the Black Lake.
As was typical and expected of him, Draco Malfoy was complaining bitterly, both about the cold, and the utter injustice that was Slytherin not having a competitor. Draco really coudn't root for anyone, not even Krum. As they sat down in the stands, Draco was laughing uproariously. Pansy and he were competing to come up with the craziest, stupidest ideas that Potter might actually do. After all, they'd seen him jump off his broom just to catch the snitch in his mouth. Lad was more than a little foolhardy, and that was without trying to insult the bugger.
The stadium was only about halfway full when Draco Malfoy started to get concerned. Hagrid the Ugly had shown up, but without any of his usual posse. The Golden Trio hated to leave the big man alone - he was genuinely nice, but was often too rough with children, and had a nasty tendency to send them flying off the bleachers when he gesticulated too wildly. Where are they? Draco thought, a thin tendril of dread wending up from his stomach to his heart.
It ony got worse when the Theoretical Champions appeared.
They wouldn't miss this. Not with Potter competing.
Draco pressed down any urge to fidget. Pansy was sitting beside him (well, more accurately, half on top of him), "Isn't this so exciting, Drakey-poo?"
Draco Malfoy hated that nickname with the force of a thousand suns. It was demeaning and diminutive.
He jerked himself out of his reverie as he saw Harry Potter and the rest of the Champions heading towards the lake. And then undressing. For once, Draco Malfoy was very, very glad he wasn't in the tournament. Who would want to dive into a jumped-up pond in the middle of February?
And, after all, as Potter had been rather Loudly Told, if they didn't compete, they'd lose their magic.
Draco was well aware that there were students in the school (Hermione among them), who were well able to live without magic. He knew he wasn't one of them, and couldn't see himself fixing that anytime soon. To do so, would involve studying an entirely different culture (in which, he devoutly hoped, Proper Clothing was more along the lines of what that Hufflepuff wore than Potter's oversize-to-the-point-of-elephantism clothing).
All of the competitors had bathing suits on, Draco saw, as his attention was briefly distracted by a wolfwhistle. Looking over, he saw Luna leaning forward, nearly obscured from his sight by Hagrid. At least he has someone to keep an eye on him.
Where was Hermione?! Not that Malfoy cared overly much about the Weasley, but the fact that he wasn't there either twisted in Draco's stomach.
Draco was on the edge of his seat - not with excitement, but with dread.
[a/n: Draco doesn't know that Ron and Hermione are in Davy' Jones' locker, but he suspects. Leave a review!]