Chapter Five: The World Cup

Harry thought the campground was amazing. He had never seen so many different nationalities of wizards before. He loved every bit of it, the sights, the sounds, and the smells. The Weasley's tent was even better, with an entire kitchen and at least four bedrooms. It was all just so fantastic Harry forgot all of his problems.

Once they had all settled in they Weasleys, Harry and Hermione began to make their way to the top box of the stadium. Once there, the usual pleasantries were exchanged before the trio sat down to wait.

As they watched the box filled gradually around them over the next half hour. Mr. Weasley kept shaking hands with people who were obviously very important wizards. Percy jumped to his feet so often that he looked as though he were trying to sit on a hedgehog. When Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic himself, arrived, Percy bowed so low that his glasses fell off and shattered. Highly embarrassed, he repaired them with his wand and thereafter remained in his seat, throwing jealous looks at Harry, whom Cornelius Fudge had greeted like an old friend. They had met before, and Fudge shook Harry's hand in a fatherly fashion, asked how he was, and introduced him to the wizards on either side of him.

Harry really couldn't possibly care less. He found the minister to be a rather despicable man with no sense of self-respect. He threw himself at the richest person in the room, begging for anything. He tried to get out of speaking with him by telling the Minister that he was busy playing a game with ron and Hermione, but Fudge would let him go sit back down.

He tried to mentally plead with Ron and Hermione to help him, but he shrugged, there was nothing they could do.

"Harry Potter, you know," Fudge began to tell the Bulgarian minister loudly, who was wearing splendid robes of black velvet trimmed with gold and didn't seem to understand a word of English.

"Harry Potter ... oh come on now, you know who he is ... the boy who survived You-Know-Who ... you do know who he is -"

The Bulgarian wizard suddenly spotted Harry's scar and started gabbling loudly and excitedly, pointing at it.

"Knew we'd get there in the end," said Fudge wearily to Harry. "I'm no great shakes at languages; I need Barty Crouch for this sort of thing. Ah, I see his house-elf's saving him a seat... Good job too, these Bulgarian blighters have been trying to cadge all the best places ... ah, and here's Lucius!"

Harry, Ron, and Hermione turned quickly. Edging along the second row to three still-empty seats right behind Mr. Weasley were none other than Dobby the house-elf's former owners: Lucius Malfoy, Draco; and a woman Harry supposed must be Draco's mother. His mother. Oh God.

Harry and Draco Malfoy had been enemies ever since their very first journey to Hogwarts.

A pale boy with a pointed face and white-blond hair, Draco greatly resembled his father. Harry wondered if that was a hereditary thing, because if him and Draco were twins, wouldn't that mean he would look rather like Lucius as well? Then again, not all twins looked alike, but he had yet to meet any who didn't.

Narcissa Malfoy was blonde too; tall and slim, she would have been nice-looking if she hadn't been wearing a look that suggested there was a nasty smell under her nose. She reminded Harry a bit too much of Petunia when she was talking about the neighbors at Number 7 Privet Drive.

She didn't seem motherly in any way shape or form, but Harry hoped she acted differently in private. He didn't think he could stand to have a woman so cold as his mother. He looked over to Ron and Hermione who were giving him matching sympathetic looks.

"Ah, Fudge," said Mr. Malfoy, holding out his hand as he reached the Minister of Magic.

"How are you? I don't think you've met my wife, Narcissa? Or our son, Draco?"

"How do you do, how do you do?" said Fudge, smiling and bowing to Mrs. Malfoy. "And allow me to introduce you to Mr. Oblansk - Obalonsk - Mr. - well, he's the Bulgarian Minister of Magic, and he can't understand a word I'm saying anyway, so never mind. And

let's see who else - you know Arthur Weasley, I daresay?"

It was a tense moment. Mr. Weasley and Mr. Malfoy looked at each other and Harry vividly recalled the last time they had come face-to-face: It had been in Flourish and Blotts' bookshop, and they had had a fight. That was literally the last thing Harry wanted right now, he wasn't sure his nerves could take it. Mr. Malfoy's cold gray eyes swept over Mr. Weasley, and then up and down the row.

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

Harry was torn between curling up into a ball and sobbing, or attacking his dearest father right now. How could he even be related to such pricks? They all seemed incredibly snobbish, and to make a comment like that to another person? It was downright despicable. Harry couldn't imagine saying anything like that to anyone. This was his family?

Fudge, who wasn't listening, said, "Lucius has just given a very generous contribution to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, Arthur. He's here as my guest."

"How - how nice," said Mr. Weasley, with a very strained smile.

Mr. Malfoy's eyes had returned to Hermione, who went slightly pink, but stared determinedly back at him. Harry knew exactly what was making his father's lip curl like that. The Malfoys, except for Harry, prided themselves on being purebloods; in other words, they considered anyone of Muggle descent, like Hermione, second-class. Harry wondered if he could ever believe in that pureblood supremacy shite. After all, if didn't make any sense.

Hermione was the best witch in their year, and although Crabbe and Goyle might be purebloods they are as dumb as rocks.

Lucius nodded sneeringly to and continued down the line to his seats. Draco shot Harry, Ron, and Hermione one contemptuous look, then settled himself between his mother and father. For a strange moment, Harry envied them. They may be complete snobs, but at least they were a family.

He could almost place himself into that picture. He would sit next to Draco, and maybe Draco wouldn't be so spoiled with a brother around. Maybe the Malfoy family as a whole would be less icy if they hadn't lost a child. He knew it was only wishful thinking, but that's the thing about wishes, they don't need to make sense. They only need to be dreams for the future.

"Sorry mate," Ron muttered as he, Harry, and Hermione turned to face the field again.

Next moment, Ludo Bagman charged into the box.

"Everyone ready?" he said, his round face gleaming like a great, excited Edam. "Minister - ready to go?"

"Ready when you are, Ludo," said Fudge comfortably.

Ludo whipped out his wand, directed it at his own throat, and said "Sonorus!" and then spoke over the roar of sound that was now filling the packed stadium; his voice echoed over them, booming into every corner of the stands.

"Ladies and gentlemen. . . welcome! Welcome to the final of the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup!"

…

After the game, Harry was still on a quidditch high, and he felt as though nothing could get him down. He stayed up, recounting the game over and over for hours, until they were all sent off to bed. He dreamed of being a seeker in that game, when suddenly he was woken by Mr. Weasley's voice.

"Get up! Ron - Harry - come on now, get up, this is urgent!"

Harry sat up quickly and the top of his head hit canvas.

"S' matter?" he said.

Dimly, he could tell that something was wrong. The noises in the campsite had changed.

The singing had stopped. He could hear screams, and the sound of people running. He slipped down from the bunk and reached for his clothes, but Mr. Weasley, who had pulled on his jeans over his own pajamas, said, "No time, Harry - just grab a jacket and get outside - quickly!"

Harry did as he was told and hurried out of the tent, Ron at his heels.

By the light of the few fires that were still burning, he could see people running away into the woods, fleeing something that was moving across the field toward them, something that was emitting odd flashes of light and noises like gunfire. Loud jeering, roars of laughter, and drunken yells were drifting toward them; then came a burst of strong green light, which illuminated the scene.

A crowd of wizards, tightly packed and moving together with wands pointing straight upward, was marching slowly across the field. Harry squinted at them. . . . They didn't seem to have faces. . . . Then he realized that their heads were hooded and their faces masked. High above them, floating along in midair, four struggling figures were being contorted into grotesque shapes. It was as though the masked wizards on the ground were puppeteers, and the people above them were marionettes operated by invisible strings that rose from the wands into the air. Two of the figures were very small.

More wizards were joining the marching group, laughing and pointing up at the floating bodies. Tents crumpled and fell as the marching crowd swelled. Once or twice Harry saw one of the marchers blast a tent out of his way with his wand. Several caught fire. The screaming grew louder.

The floating people were suddenly illuminated as they passed over a burning tent and Harry recognized one of them: Mr. Roberts, the campsite manager. The other three looked as though they might be his wife and children.

One of the marchers below flipped upside down with his wand; her nightdress fell down to reveal voluminous drawers and she struggled to cover herself up as the crowd below her screeched and hooted with glee.

"That's sick," Ron muttered, watching the smallest Muggle child, who had begun to spin like a top, sixty feet above the ground, his head flopping limply from side to side.

"That is really sick. . . ."

Hermione and Ginny came hurrying toward them, pulling coats over their nightdresses, with Mr. Weasley right behind them. At the same moment, Bill, Charlie, and Percy emerged from the boys' tent, fully dressed, with their sleeves rolled up and their wands out.

"We're going to help the Ministry!" Mr. Weasley shouted over all the noise, rolling up his own sleeves. "You lot - get into the woods, and stick together. I'll come and fetch you when we've sorted this out!"

Bill, Charlie, and Percy were already sprinting away toward the oncoming marchers; Mr. Weasley tore after them. Ministry wizards were dashing from every direction toward the source of the trouble. The crowd beneath the Roberts family was coming ever closer.

"C'mon," said Fred, grabbing Ginny's hand and starting to pull her toward the wood.

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and George followed. They all looked back as they reached the trees. The crowd beneath the Roberts family was larger than ever; they could see the Ministry wizards trying to get through it to the hooded wizards in the center, but they were having great difficulty. It looked as though they were scared to perform any spell that might make the Roberts family fall.

The colored lanterns that had lit the path to the stadium had been extinguished. Dark figures were blundering through the trees; children were crying; anxious shouts and panicked voices were reverberating around them in the cold night air. Harry felt himself being pushed hither and thither by people whose faces he could not see. Then he heard Ron yell with pain.

"What happened?" said Hermione anxiously, stopping so abruptly that Harry walked into her. "Ron, where are you? Oh this is stupid - lumos!"

She illuminated her wand and directed its narrow beam across the path. Ron was lying sprawled on the ground.

"Tripped over a tree root," he said angrily, getting to his feet again.

"Well, with feet that size, hard not to," said a drawling voice from behind them.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione turned sharply. Draco Malfoy was standing alone nearby, leaning against a tree, looking utterly relaxed. His arms folded, he seemed to have been watching the scene at the campsite through a gap in the trees.

Ron told Malfoy to do something that Harry knew he would never have dared say in front of Mrs. Weasley.

"Language, Weasley," said Malfoy, his pale eyes glittering. "Hadn't you better be hurrying along, now? You wouldn't like her spotted, would you?"

He nodded at Hermione, and at the same moment, a blast like a bomb sounded from the campsite, and a flash of green light momentarily lit the trees around them. Harry took a deep breath in and tried not to kill his brother.

"What's that supposed to mean?" said Hermione defiantly. "Granger, they're after Muggles, "said Malfoy. "D'you want to be showing off your knickers in midair? Because if you do, hang around. . . they're moving this way, and it would give us all a laugh."

This was the last straw for Harry. Oh Merlin, why did his only family has to be full of such stuck-up arses? He let out a cruel, bitter laugh, before quickly casting expelliarmus at Draco before he knew what was happening. Draco's wand went flying and before he could do anything else Harry had shoved him up against a tree.

"Hermione is a witch," he snarled, "Not a mudblood, not a muggle, a witch. She is single-handedly one of the smartest people I know and I am tired of you pureblood supremacy bullshit."

Draco looked at Harry with emotions running across his face. Anger, fear, shock, and surprise. He hadn't expected Potter to fight back in any way. Harry let him go and Draco jumped away from him, quickly picking up his wand and trying to regain his composure.

There came a bang from the other side of the trees that was louder than anything they had heard. it served the purpose of breaking Malfoy's state of shock. Several people nearby screamed. Malfoy attempted to laugh

"Scare easily, don't they?" he said, trying for collected but sounding nervous, "I suppose your daddy told you all to hide? What's he up to - trying to rescue the Muggles?"

"Where're your parents?" said Harry, his temper rising. "Out there wearing masks, are they? I knew they would be, after all, they were Death Eaters in the last war, why not join in the new one? I heard Auntie Bella let Voldemort stay in her home, wonder if she was his whore for hire?"

For once, it was Malfoy who lost his composure, "Don't talk about my family that way, Potter! You could only hope to be half as good as a Malfoy." He ended his sentence with a sneer and his face was red with anger.

Harry gave a shark-like grin and said, "Alright Malfoy, we'll go. Sorry for making you so flustered." Somehow the positions had switched throughout the conversation. Now harry was the calm, collected predator and Draco was the prey.

"Oh come on," said Hermione, with a disgusted look at Draco, "let's go and find the others."

Malfoy only stood dumbly in the shadows of the fires as the three of them made their way into the forest.

Author's Note: HA! Another Chapter! Good job me, so excited for next chapter already...I can't wait!

Author's Note: So I was left a review and told Harry wouldn't recognize the Malfoy's as his parents quite yet, and I agree, so I went back and changed a line or two...shout out to Iphigelina for pointing this out