Astrid pov
"How do you like the view?" Draco asks, grinning.
"It's..." I struggle to find a word to describe the view from the minister's box. I glance at Draco, and he scowls.
"It's not good enough, is it?" he asks harshly.
I gape at him. "Not good enough? Draco, this is breathtaking! I've always dreamed of coming to the quidditch world cup! This couldn't be more perfect."
His expression relaxes, and he smiles again.
"Are you hungry? They have every kind of pastry imaginable," Draco says. I nod enthusiastically, and he grabs my hand to lead me to the table he's speaking of.
I feel my heartbeat quicken, and I can't help but enjoy holding onto Draco's hand. We weave through a small crowd of people, and when we reach our destination, Draco seems to notice what he's done. He hastily drops my hand and takes a step away.
"Sorry," he mutters, though I barely notice. I'm too busy eyeing the pumpkin pasties lined up so gloriously in front of me...
"Take whatever you would like, Miss Johnson," a voice says from behind me. I jump, and turn to see Lucius Malfoy speaking. He's smiling slightly, and Draco is at his side, his cheeks slightly pink.
"Thank you, sir," I say, trying my best to sound calm. On the inside, though, I'm totally freaking out. Draco's dad knows about me? How much? Why? He's quite an intimidating man, really...
"I've heard so much about you," Mr. Malfoy continues. "Draco mentioned you are quite smart, though what else would be expected from a Ravenclaw like yourself?"
"Thank you, sir," I answer. I can feel my face burning, and I think Draco's father notices it too, for he quickly ends the conversation.
"It was a pleasure meeting you, Astrid," he concludes. "And there is no need to call me sir. Lucius will do just as well."
I nod, and Mr. Malfoy walks briskly away.
"I'm sorry about my father," Draco mumbles.
"It's okay," I say. "So what now?"
"I think the game is about to begin," Draco suggests. "Should we see what's going on there?"
"Alright," I say. We walk over to a pair of seats together and settle in to watch the quidditch world cup.
When I look out across the stadium, my gaze falls upon two green and white faced figures, screaming together, both looking elated. I can tell it's my best friend from her black, curly hair. Brooklyn and someone else are cheering for the Irish together. I feel a pang of guilt for leaving Brooklyn like that, but when the Minister's echoing voice makes my seat vibrate, my best friend slips my mind.
The two teams are off, flying up into the air on their broomsticks. I inch forward, not wanting to blink in case I miss something important.
"Go Ireland," I hear Draco whisper beside me.
"What's that?" I ask, turning my attention from the game to him. "I thought you were rooting for Bulgaria!"
Draco grins and points to his scarf. "I'm Ireland all the way! I just said I was supporting Bulgaria because ... well, to be honest, I didn't think you would come up here if I was supporting a different team."
I stick my tongue out at him, but I smile. "I'd come up here no matter what team you like! Now come here. We'll be Irish fans together."
I tug off Draco's scarf, and drape it behind both of our necks. My fumbling fingers clumsily tie the ends into a knot.
"There," I say triumphantly. "Now we're Irish fans together."
Draco sighs dramatically, but a smile pulls at the corners of his mouth. I grin in response and settle down once more to watch the game.
"I thought you were rooting for Bulgaria," Draco accuses, mocking my tone.
I shrug. "You said the same thing."
Draco and I don't speak for quite a while. We're too busy watching the quidditch match. At one point, I think I may have heard Lucius Malfoy mutter something about love to someone in the ministry. I still can't figure out if he did.