The next day was the match between the USA and Brazil. Scorpius awoke to the sound of loud, drunken cheers coming from outside the tent, and then the sounds of retching mixed with: "USA! USA! USA!"

"Damn yanks," his father muttered, stalking out of the tent, wearing nothing but his pajama bottoms. "Keep it down, you lot! My family's trying to sleep."

"Stop telling us what to do!" A particularly drunken wizard yelled back. "We're not the colonies anymore."

Draco marched back inside the tent, muttering a stream of curse words under his breath. He went straight for his bedroom, but stopped only when Scorpius stepped out of his own bedroom, rubbing his eyes.

"Dad? Whasshappening?"

"It's American Independence day, which clearly means that the whole damn country has lost their grip on sanity. I'm going to curse the lot of them, they're only across the way."

"No you're not," Scorpius' mother sung cheerily as she ducked back in the tent, holding a steaming pot of coffee. "It's past sunrise, they are well within their right to celebrate. And you have no room to talk, Draco Malfoy, I have never seen a louder drunk…"

"Alright," Draco said hastily, shooting a quick look at Scorpius, who smiled eagerly. "That's enough."

"Coffee?" Celia said with an extra sugary voice, and Scorpius laughed aloud as Draco stalked back into his bedroom. Scorpius took a seat at their breakfast table, which was surprisingly modest for the size of the tent. The Malfoy's tent was equipped with two large bedrooms, complete with king beds and down quilts, an upstairs viewing room where one could peel back the ceiling and watch the stars, a living room with an magically enhanced speaker system for the radio, and a kitchen complete with a tile floor. "I'm afraid I broke our little stovetop," Celia said, putting out an empty bowl for Scorpius. She waved her wand, and a cluster of cereal boxes halted neatly in front of him. "Do you want coffee?"

"Alright, then." Scorpius paused as he watched his mother cut up an apple, which she put aside on a plate for his father. "Mum?"

"Yes?"

"Do you know why Dad hates the Weasleys?"

Celia froze as she reached for the bottle of milk on the countertop. She turned to face Scorpius with a pained expression on her face.

"Why would you ask that? Did your father say something?"

"No, he didn't. It's just…when Dad came to get me from the Weasley's tent, he ran into Rose's father and Al's father. Harry and Ron, you know?"

"Yes, I know."

"It was…cold. Mr. Weasley glared at Dad, and Dad seemed to glare back. Like they hate each other. They went to school together, right? Mr. Weasley must have been in Gryffindor."

Celia took the seat opposite Scorpius and took a long sip of coffee before replying.

"Your father does not hate the Weasleys. It is a long and complicated history, Scorpius."

"He also said that."

"When your father was in school, he didn't get along well with the Gryffindors. That means he fought a lot with them, primarily Harry and Ron. Your father felt as if Harry had slighted him, and he felt like Ron was…not a proper substitute for his offer of friendship. It is not my place to tell you the entire history, Scorpius. If your father shares all those stories with you, it should be of his own choice. However, I will tell you that your father does not hate either of those men. Your father helped them, and they returned the favor. You remember what happened to your father during the Battle of Hogwarts, yes?"

Scorpius had heard the story of his father's survival only once, during a conversation after Christmas dinner when he was eight.

"Sort of."

"Your father had to retrieve a wand from Harry Potter. But when he actually confronted him, your father's life was put in danger. A Slytherin student cast a spell that went horribly wrong. Fiendfyre. Nasty stuff, can't be put out without dark magic. Harry and Ron saved your father and one of his Slytherin friends. Your father would have died in that fire if it hadn't been for them."

"Oh. So…they just don't get along?"

"I would call it begrudging respect," Celia corrected, taking another sip of her coffee. "I, on the other hand, get along splendidly with the Potters. And Hermione. We never had any problems."

"Okay."

"Was it making you uncomfortable?" Celia asked cautiously. "Because of Rose?"

"It was just something I noticed," Scorpius muttered. "I don't want to feel weird around my best friend's family. Or rather, I just wouldn't want to feel as if they don't like me."

"I'm sure they don't have a problem with you, sweetheart. Rose doesn't have a problem with you. And as difficult as it may be for Ron Weasley to forgive your father for what transpired between them, he is a family man. He will not make his daughter uncomfortable. Or, at least he won't if Hermione has anything to say about it."

Celia stood up and moved towards the collapsible sink. "Just remember, it is most important what your friends think of you, not their parents. Not much can be done to change the heart."

"Right." Scorpius stood up and stretched. "I'm going over to see Rose and Al before the match."

"How about this," Celia countered, her back to him as she washed out the mug. "Stay with them if their families are alright with it, and if you feel comfortable. Or come to our box and bring Rose."

"And Al."

"Yes, of course."

When Scorpius arrived at the Weasley's tent, it was in full-blown commotion. The Potters and a second set of Weasleys (Victoire and Louis) had arrived just before he had, and the entire family was sitting down to breakfast. Hermione and Ginny and an extremely beautiful woman with a sheet of silvery hair (clearly part veela), were chatting in the kitchen as they waved their wands over slices of toast and pans with beans and sausage and tomatoes.

"Scorpius!" Al, Rose, Lily, Hugo, and James were sitting in the sitting room area, and beckoned him over quickly.

"Where did you go yesterday?" Al asked. "We went looking for you, but we weren't sure which tent was yours."

"My mum was all worked up about losing me in the campsite," Scorpius said, and James let out an audible snicker.

"Mummy's boy."

"James, Mum still ties your shoes for you," Lily pointed out.

"You're coming with us to the match, then?" Rose asked. "Our family's box is massive. Everyone pitched in, it's bigger than this tent…"

"Your family won't mind?" Scorpius asked.

"No," Rose said, shaking her head. "Why would they?"

"Oh, Scorpius," someone said from behind them. Hermione was standing behind the couch, holding a smoking pan. "I'm sorry, I didn't see you come in."

"Good morning Mrs. Weasley."

"Would you like some breakfast?" She wiped away the hair that fell into her eyes. It was growing frizzier with the heat.

"If it's not any trouble," Scorpius said. "My mum broke our stove."

"Well," Hermione said with a small smile. "That sounds like her. We have plenty of room and more than enough food. You lot, clear the table. We're going to eat in a couple of minutes."

At the table, Scorpius was wedged in between Al and Rose. Across from him sat Lily. She smiled at him before snatching up the top piece of toast of the platter set in front of them. Every time she kicked her legs out under the table, she caught him in the shins. But Scorpius didn't mind. It was only a few moments into the meal when Ron seemed to notice that Scorpius was sitting next to his daughter.

"You're back, Mr. Malfoy," he said quite suddenly, breaking up most of the breakfast chatter. Scorpius saw Victoire lean over and whisper into her mother's ear.

"Ron," Hermione scolded.

"What?" He replied, sounding genuinely surprised. "I was just wondering if he was going to join us at the match today."

"Er…" Scorpius paused.

"Of course he is," Rose put in.

"That's settled then," Ron said evenly, looking down at his plate. "See, 'Mione? I was only asking a question…"

"I heard something interesting at work this week." A man at the end of the table, with long red hair and a remarkably scarred face spoke up. He had to have been a Weasley. Scorpius was beginning to recognize the signature red color of their hair. "Have you heard that McGonagall is bringing the Yule Ball back to Hogwarts?"

"They're holding the Triwizard Tournament?" Ginny asked in horror.

"No. I think that tradition has been eradicated. No, I heard McGonagall is under pressure to hold some sort of Holiday Festival this year, along with other schools. It's experimental—apparently it's a test to see how motivated students are when faced with the opportunity of a dance."

"Fat Chance," Al said aloud. "Why would I want to dance?"

"The Bent-Winged Snitches are supposed to play," the man replied. "The school had to take a loan out to finance their stay."

"No way," Lily and James said at the same time.

"What year do you have to be to attend?" Ron asked. He looked cautiously at Rose. "You had to be a fourth year back when we were in school."

"Dunno. Knowing McGonagall, rule still stands, or she's yanked the limit up a few years."

"Oh god," Rose whispered to Scorpius. "D'you know what this means?"

"Travis is going to ask you to dance?"

"No, stupid. I'm going to have to learn to dance in the first place."

"Well I'll have to learn too."

"You won't have any trouble," Rose said airily, waving a hand. "You have the shape for it. Like a seeker."

"I'm a chaser, Rose."

"You have the shape for it," she insisted. "You have elegant hands."

"Thanks, I suppose." It was only after he finished his breakfast that Scorpius wondered when Rose had taken notice of his shape and elegant hands—and when she had determined that it would make him an eligible dancer. Even so, he couldn't help but notice on the walk over to the Quidditch Pitch, that she was light on her feet. She would probably make a good dancer, too.