They were up in the top box with the Weasleys and Ludo Bagman, who was commentating on the match as it turned out. These were really good seats, even if you did have to put up with Ludo shouting. In Draco's mind the commentary rather missed the friendliness of the cricket commentary or the quick flirtatious asides of Lee Jordan's quidditch commentary. Of one thing Draco was sure though, even if Hogwarts had better commentary, this was definitely better quidditch. Even Hermione, who usually cared nothing for the graceful swoons and dives across the sky was entranced by the beauty of the game. The quick paced Irish attack, the supreme power of the Bulgarian beaters, all of this was quidditch at its brilliant best. To the surprise of everyone, except perhaps Fred and George, Ireland won the match purely on the strength of their chasers, since when Krum caught the snitch for Bulgaria they had already built a sufficient lead to win the game for Ireland. Whilst the fun of the day was over, the excitement certainly wasn't. Noctifer had disappeared again and there was a huge amount of noise coming from outside. They wondered what was going on, when suddenly Arthur Weasley poked his head through the flap at the front of the tent.

'Come on, get your shoes on. We've got to go.'

'Why?'

'Don't ask questions, get a move on. I'll explain when we've gone.'

It soon became apparent what was going on. A riot.

'It's the death eaters', Arthur Weasley explained. 'Every so often they like to gather to remind us that a lot of them are still out there. This is the perfect opportunity for them to embarrass the ministry. You head into that forest and hide. I'm going to help the aurors out.'

They hurried into the forest and hid deep inside. The noise of the troublemakers seemed to have died down, when suddenly a voice which sounded like its owner gargled daily with gravel spoke.

'Morsmordre.'

A ghastly jet of green light filled the sky and faded, then a loud crack filled the air

'What was that?'

'Everybody down!' Draco yelled as he flattened himself to the floor. Red bolts of magic flew over their heads and they tried to make themselves as flat as possible.

'They're just kids, Crouch, it can't be them.' Said a mysterious voice.

'It could be. Look at that one, a born Death Eater if ever there was one.' Said this Crouch person, pointing a finger squarely at Draco. He was hauled roughly to his feet.

'Well, was it you boy?'

'Was what me?'

'That.' The man said pointing to the sky. Draco followed the finger and saw a terrible sight. He recognised it from his father's tales. The Dark Mark of Voldemort.

'Who's died?' Draco asked. He knew the Death Eaters only set that in the sky when they killed.

'So it was you. Arrest him!'

'Crouch, he's just a kid, he's not old enough to know...'

'Evil doesn't wait for its target to come of age before it settles in their heart, Tonks! Arrest him!'

From nowhere came Arthur Weasley, who had small cuts over his face where twigs had hit him as he had run through the forest.

'You're alive!' he exclaimed when he saw Ron and the gang. 'I saw the Mark and I assumed the worst.' There was still panic in his voice however, and his bewildered eyes showed that the fact they were alive hadn't quite sunk in yet.

'Dad! Nice to see you. We're fine. Don't worry, we're fine. Well, Draco isn't, but that's just because he's being arrested, we're fine, absolutely nothing to worry about.'

Arthur Weasley slowly calmed down and looked over to Crouch. Then he exploded.

'WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON? BARTY! WHY ARE YOU ARESTING UNDERAGE KIDS?!' The Wrath of Arthur Weasley could not be contained and Barty Crouch soon decided that arresting Draco wasn't such a great idea after all, even after his wand was found to have cast the spell. It was decided that the whole thing must have been a crime committed by person or persons unknown who had cast the spell with a stolen wand and immediately fled the scene. They headed back to the campsite. Many tents had been burnt down in the disaster, but some were still standing, including the tent Mr Weasley had borrowed off Perkins and Uncle Noctifer's. The latter tent being larger, Mr Weasley insisted that they all sat down in there and waited for Noctifer to return. Even with the tent's palatial luxury, it was a bit of a squeeze but everyone fitted in. When Draco mentioned the Floo, Mr Weasley asked if it would be alright for him to use it to let Mrs Weasley know they were alright. Draco said it was fine and Mr Weasley soon left them by themselves so he could talk to his wife in something resembling privacy. This was however somewhat limited, when Mrs Weasley was screeching at the other end. Occasionally one or all of the Weasleys winced, as they heard what their mother was saying. In the end, to get her to calm down, Mr Weasley had to get her to come through and see that everyone was alright.

After giving everyone a hug that felt to Draco's as strong as a bear Mrs Weasley started to cook. In many ways it was her gut instinct. If things were bad you could make it all go away by cleaning or baking. Since the kitchen in this tent was so very well equipped, it was baking she chose.

The biscuits were just out of the oven when Noctifer returned, tucking something into a bag.

'Oh, hello everyone. I didn't know you were here, Molly.' Mrs Weasley gave a quick wave from the kitchen and returned her attention to the biscuits.

'Everyone alright? I saw the Mark and hoped you were all okay.'

'You were alright?'

'Yes, just fine. I was well, I was busy.' Subconsciously Draco felt this wasn't quite a good enough explanation but he let it pass. After all, Noctifer wouldn't have been involved in anything.

It wasn't long before Draco found himself sitting with his friends in the Hogwarts express. What was going to happen this year? Throughout the world cup, Percy Weasley, who had recently gotten himself a job at the ministry of magic, was hinting that something would be happening at Hogwarts, but irritatingly had refused to spill the beans. They sat in the carriage, Ginny, Ron, Draco Harry and Hermione, waiting patiently for the train to set off. The station clock struck eleven. Immediately a vast puff of steam billowed from underneath the coaches and ascended to the roof of the station. The strokes of the mighty engine could be heard they were slow at first but soon became faster and faster, louder and louder until the train was really travelling at speed. As the train set off, it had become legal for them to practise magic once more, and Draco whipped his wand out and waved it about. He coughed twice to clear his throat and began to have a go at one of the incantations he had read in Dumbledore's textbook on charms over the summer. It was an undetectable extension spell. Soon the inside of the compartment had all of the capacity of a large ballroom. Another wave of his wand and the floor in the middle became sprung. That was a neat trick his uncle had taught him. All they needed now was some music. Draco reached into his bag and pulled out a small gramophone. One tap of the wand was all it took to start it playing music.

'Would anyone care for a dance?' He asked. Ginny was the only one to accept and soon the pair were dancing around the ballroom slowly, to an elegant waltz Draco had heard on the radio once. That song ended and Ron and Hermione started to dance, and Draco sat down so that Harry could dance with Ginny. Another waltz and Draco was dancing with Hermione. This time it was some sort of Scottish reel, to which not even Draco could get the footwork right. Before long, Harry tripped up over one of his two left feet and fell to the floor. The dancing stopped immediately in a hail of laughter. Harry was fine, even if his pride was a little wounded. They didn't resume however because the twins had walked in.

'Wow, seriously cool wandwork, guys.' They said impressed. 'Nice one, Hermione.'

'It wasn't me.' Hermione admitted, a trifle embarrassed.

'Well whoever did this did a bloody cool job.' Fred said. Draco smiled slightly to himself, which went largely unnoticed.

'One small thing though,' Fred continued, 'you are missing a little certain something. I'll leave it to George.'

George whipped out a small box of fireworks and set one off. It exploded in the room filling ti with smoke and sparks.

'You know what George, we really need to think more about smoke, don't you agree?'

'Oh, yes .Sorry guys.' George said off-handedly, fleeing the scene of the accident. In the end, the only way they could clear the smoke was to turn the room back to how it had been when they got on the train and open the window. This was no mean feat, as Draco couldn't remember the counter charm and had to look it up in the book which was itself quite challenging in the smoke. By the time Draco had done this and the smoke had cleared they were at Hogsmeade station. The carriage ride up to the school was comparatively pleasant. This year, for once, it wasn't raining as they arrived, perhaps the weather reflecting their spirits. Whilst it remained dry, the weather soon wasn't reflecting their spirits when Dumbledore announced that this year, both quidditch and cricket would be cancelled, as something called the triwizard tournament was going to be held at Hogwarts. So upset were they at this turn of events that Draco and Harry barely listened as Dumbledore introduced Professor Moody as the new Defence against the Dark Arts teacher. The feast, although excellent as usual somehow didn't taste as good, with the bitter taste of disappointment at the cancelling of sport fresh in their minds. It wasn't even as if they could enter, only those who were older than seventeen. As far as Draco was concerned, they may as well not bother doing this, as it was all just a vast waste of time anyway. There was no way that it would help foster international magical co-operation. Draco knew full well that the only thing that could do that was an extremely powerful dark lord. After all, the last time there was international magical co-operation, was probably Dumbledore being sent to deal with Grindelwald. Ever the cynic, Draco slept with black hatred in his heart that night. Hatred of anything that could cancel quidditch or his beloved cricket.