The Old Days (Part One)

"And that is your Great Grandfather, Gawain Peverell," Iolanthe explained. "He fought off the Irish and saved our lands."

"Wow," Henry whispered. "Was he as strong as Grandfather?"

Iolanthe nodded.

"Being a Peverell means you must be strong."

"But I'm a Potter."

Iolanthe smiled at her son and kneeled before him.

"You are," she agreed, "but you are as much a Peverell as you are a Potter. You have the best of two strong families, Henry. Never forget that."

The boy nodded resolutely, and Iolanthe ruffled his already messy crop of hair.

She had spent much of the last decade trying to tame it, much to the amusement of her husband who Henry resembled uncannily.

Not that it was such a bad thing. She merely wished there was something of her own ancestors within him.

"Ah, a visit to the ghosts," Hardwin commented as he approached, his smile in full bloom at the sight of his wife and son.

"Father!" Henry greeted him enthusiastically, charging into the man's arms.

"Have you been behaving?"

"Maybe," Henry answered with a smirk.

Iolanthe rolled her eyes.

Her son was mischievous in his ways, much like the man that had sired him.

Hardwin was a strong man, fiercely protective of her and Henry, but he had never truly grown out of his own mischief.

It was one of the things Iolanthe found most endearing about her husband.

Despite having been together for close to twenty years now, he'd not changed.

He still brought her flowers and had never wavered in doting on her as much as he did their son.

Harry felt uneasy at the overwhelming feeling of love and admiration Iolanthe felt for Hardwin.

Being in the mind of a female was a considerably different experience than that of any other he had been a part of thus far.

Hardwin hummed suspiciously.

"Are you ready for school?"

Henry nodded excitedly and Iolanthe's heart plummeted into her stomach.

She knew that it was important for Henry to be educated in magic, but why he had to be sent to a school in another country escaped her.

Hardwin believed that Hogwarts was the best place for him, and though she had been impressed by the castle and staff when they had visited only a few months prior, Iolanthe was not ready for her son to leave her.

Henry was their only child, after all, and she only wished to keep him where she could protect him.

Still, she knew that Hogwarts would teach him things he could not learn here, would give him the opportunity to make much-needed friends with children his own age.

Iolanthe would be beside herself with worry, but she would not take the opportunity away.

In only a few short days, Henry would be gone, away from the protection of the mother and father who loved him so.

She smiled sadly as she felt the lump in her pocket.

Her father, upon his deathbed, had insisted she protect the cloak until it was time to pass it on to one of her own children.

Iolanthe had done so, but now it was time for the cloak to protect her son as it had Arthur Peverell, and the others that had possessed it before him.

Clearing her throat, Iolanthe approached her husband and Henry.

"I have a gift for you," she murmured. "It has been in the Peverell family for generations now and is very special."

"A gift?"

Iolanthe nodded as she removed the cloak and presented it to her son.

"What is it?"

"A cloak of invisibility," Iolanthe explained. "I want you to keep it with you always and use it if you ever find yourself in danger. This cloak is very special, Henry. You must take care of it and not tell anyone of it. Do you understand?"

It was odd to see such an expression of seriousness on the boys' face as he nodded.

"I will," he vowed. "Is this the same cloak Gawain Peverell used?"

"It is," Iolanthe confirmed.

She had shared the many stories of her family with Henry over the years.

Her son's eyes lit up in awe.

"Wow," he whispered, holding it closely to his chest. "I will protect it forever."

"And when it is time, you will pass it on to your own children," Iolanthe urged.

Henry nodded.

"Just like you are now."

Harry smiled as he was returned to Ron's room in the burrowed.

It was not often the cloak showed him such heart-warming moments from his family history, but now he understood where the tradition of passing the cloak down through the generations originated in the Potter line.

Being the last of the Peverells, Iolanthe had handed the cloak to her son who had evidently kept his word and passed it on to his own, and so on.

For close to a thousand years, it had been this way, and now, it was with Harry.

He shook his head as Ron's snores rumbled around the walls.

Harry had arrived at the Burrow the previous evening, ready to attend the final of the Quidditch World Cup with the male Weasleys.

The invitation had come as something of a surprise, but it was quite the experiencing visiting another wizarding home.

The Burrow itself appeared as though it could tip over at any given moment, and Harry had no doubt that without the assistance of magic, it would do so.

He'd had very little interaction with the redheads other than with Ron and the twins, but he had been welcomed by the entire family upon his arrival, most warmly by Mrs Weasley who had insisted on feeding him until he was fit to burst.

Not long after, it had been time for bed.

They would be leaving early today to catch a portkey to the stadium for the game between Ireland and Bulgaria, well, when Ron and the others woke.

The snoring suddenly stopped and Ron bolted up, his eyes wide in panic.

"What time is it?" he gasped.

"Just after five," Harry chuckled.

Ron breathed a sigh of relief.

"I dreamt I missed it."

"No, we've still got time. Want to go and wake Hermione up?"

Ron nodded as he yawned and climbed out of bed.

Unless it involved food, Harry had never seen the boy do three things at once.

"Come on," he urged.

Hermione was sharing a room with Ginny, and Harry pressed a finger to his lips, eliciting a frown of confusion from the redhead as they reached their destination on the floor above.

Carefully, he pushed the door open, grimacing as it creaked.

Both girls were still sleeping soundly and Harry stifled his laughter at the mess of brown hair that greeted him.

Holding up three of his fingers, he counted down before seizing his friend by the shoulder.

"Hermione, quick, you're going to be late for your exam!"

Hilarity ensued as she leapt to her feet, her eyes widened fearfully.

After only a few moments of attempting to gather her things, she paused, turning towards Harry with a glare.

"That was not funny!" she hissed, stepping towards him.

"It was Ron's idea!" Harry declared as he sprinted from the room.

"Ronald Weasley!"

A heavier set of footfalls followed him and Harry slowed as he reached the kitchen.

"What is going on?" Mrs Weasley asked.

"Just Hermione waking up."

Mrs Weasley frowned before shaking her head and busying herself with preparing breakfast.

Living with the twins, the woman was probably used to a variety of disturbances throughout the day.

"Bloody hell, why did you tell her it was me?" Ron grumbled as he entered the kitchen, breathing heavily. "I thought she was going to murder me."

"Self-preservation," Harry answered.

Ron cursed under his breath, earning a look of disapproval from his mother.

"Elbows off the table," she chastised. "Honestly, Ronald, your manners are dreadful."

Harry said nothing as he discreetly moved his own elbows, nodding towards Fred and George who joined them.

"Good morning one and all," one of them greeted. "Bloody hell, Fred. Harry Potter is at our table!"

"I can see that, George. What brings a young man of such class to our humble abode?"

"That's enough out of you two," Mrs Weasley warned, knocking both boys' elbows off the table. "Now, you will be on your best behaviour today. There will be none of your jokes."

"Of course not, Mother."

"We wouldn't dream of it."

Mrs Weasley stared at the duo for a moment, not fooled by the innocent smiles they wore.

"Where are the others?"

"Your father is in the shed," Mrs Weasley said disapprovingly, "and I will wake Charlie up soon. He must be exhausted."

Charlie was interesting to say the least.

He worked with Dragons at a sanctuary in Romania.

He resembled Ron and the others for the most part, though he wore his longer hair in a ponytail and was littered with burn scars from his job.

There was no need for Mrs Weasley to wake him. Charlie took a seat next to Ron and pulled him into a headlock, eliciting a look of disapproval from Percy who had followed him in.

"Get off!"

Charlie did not relent until Mrs Weasley pulled him off.

"Git," Ron grumbled.

Charlie merely grinned at his younger brother.

"You're getting too tall," he commented. "You're all getting too tall."

"You're just short," one of the twins replied, accepting a plate of bacon and eggs from his mother.

Harry tucked into his own breakfast as the siblings bickered amongst themselves, ignoring the irritable gaze of Hermione when she and Ginny joined them.

"That was not funny," she whispered.

"Yes, it was," Harry countered.

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him and shook her head.

"Ah, breakfast!" Mr Weasley said happily as he came through the backdoor, cleaning his hands with an oily rag.

Mrs Weasley tutted and prodded her husband's elbows from the table before placing a plate of food in front of him.

"I'm glad you're here, Harry. I've always wondered, what is the function of a rubber duck?"

Harry shared a look of confusion with Hermione.

"A rubber duck is just something children have in their bath to play with," he answered.

"Fascinating," Mr Weasley murmured. "Very fascinating."

Although Harry had not spent much time with him, he got the impression that, even for a wizard, Mr Wesley was considered to be rather quirky.

It was something Harry was used to.

Dumbledore had his own quirks, and Nicholas Flamel was perhaps the strangest man Harry had ever met.

Having spent much of the summer with him and his wife once more, Harry felt as though he knew Nicholas well enough to think that of him.

It was odd to think that it had been close to two months ago that third year had ended.

Ever since, Harry had been completing his homework, reading ahead, and continuing on with his further studies that only became more difficult.

Still, he was pleased with the progress he was making, even if he often found himself frustrated with a particular spell he could not quite get the hang of.

Nonetheless, he was advancing and would continue to do so throughout the upcoming school year.

His electives were proving to be as interesting as he'd hoped, except perhaps for Care of Magical Creatures.

Hagrid was still reticent to introduce the class to anything potentially dangerous, but Harry was certain he would find his confidence once more.

Regardless, he was pleased he could help his friend, even if the aftermath had proven to be rather ridiculous.

Less than two weeks after the appeal had taken place, the Wizengamot had passed a bill preventing anyone underage, unless they were an heir to a Lord or Lady, from attending the sessions in any capacity.

According to the Minister; 'The bill had been in the works for some time.'

Harry did not believe that for a moment.

It was a reaction to him getting one over on Lucius Malfoy, even if it had been something of a mixture of luck and taking the man by surprise.

Even Lucius could not be seen calling so many heirs of the other Lords and Ladies liars, and it wasn't as though he'd been given time to prepare for Harry's intervention.

No, for the time being, Harry was quite content to stay away from the Wizengamot.

He had neither the experience nor skill to mix it up politically with a giant in the field of the likes of Lucius Malfoy.

"We'd best get a move on," Mr Weasley urged, checking his watch. "We don't want to be late for the portkey."

Harry's stomach sank at the thought of the mode of transport.

It was much more pleasant than The Knight Bus, but he still wasn't so keen on it.

Despite this, he followed the others from the Burrow, laughing as Mrs Weasley fussed over each of her children.

"Behave," she reiterated firmly to the twins who offered her a salute in return. "You too, Ronald. I will not have any of you making a show of yourselves."

"They will be fine, Molly," Arthur insisted, kissing the fretting woman on the cheek. "We will be back in the morning."

Mrs Weasley nodded, and after a final count of their considerable party, the group made their way across the paddock, exiting a gate at the rear of the property.

"It's not too far from here," Mr Weasley assured them as he led the teens and Charlie up a hill. "I believe we will be meeting the Diggorys there."

Ginny began whispering excitedly to Hermione and Ron grimaced.

"Diggory is a prat," he declared.

"Cedric's not bad," Harry defended. "It could be worse. We could be meeting Malfoy."

Ron's grimace morphed into a look of disgust and Harry patted him comfortingly on the shoulder.

Now, he was beginning to feel the excitement creep in.

He'd never been to a professional Quidditch match before and he was eager to see the difference between those played at Hogwarts and the very top level.

"Bulgaria will win," Ron declared. "No one is beating Krum to the Snitch."

"Krum?" Harry asked.

"Viktor Krum," Ron replied with a smile. "He's the best Seeker in the world."

"I bet our Harry would give him a run for his galleons," George snorted.

"You play Seeker, Harry?" Charlie asked interestedly.

"Ha! He's the youngest player in over a century at Hogwarts," Fred explained. "He's never failed to catch a Snitch."

"He'd wipe the floor with you, Charlie," Ron added.

Charlie quirked an eyebrow.

"Is that so?" he asked amusedly.

Ron nodded.

"Charlie was Gryffindor's Seeker when he was at school," Percy explained. "He was very good."

"Good enough to get called up by three professional teams," Ron boasted. "He chose to work with dragons instead."

Charlie chuckled.

"I love Quidditch, but I didn't want to do it for a living. I much prefer a quiet life."

"With dragons?" Harry asked.

Charlie nodded.

"They are amazing creatures when you get to know them. They can even be quite friendly once they get used to you."

Harry shook his head.

The only experience he had with a dragon was with Norbert during first year.

He vividly remembered Hagrid spending most of his time putting out fires, often his own beard.

No, Harry had no desire to mix with a dragon again, especially fully grown ones.

"Ah, here we are," Mr Weasley announced. "Morning, Amos."

"Arthur, it is good to see you!" the other man greeted him enthusiastically. "You remember my son, Cedric."

"He's grown since the last time I saw him."

Amos Diggory chuckled as he wrapped an arm around Cedric's shoulder.

"He's growing into a fine, young man, aren't you, Cedric? By god, is that Harry Potter?"

"It is," Mr Weasley confirmed. "Harry will be joining us for the final."

"Well, it is nice to meet you, Mr Potter. Cedric has told me so much about you. Mind, he is determined to beat you next year. He's been on his broom all summer."

"Alright, Dad, that's enough," Cedric sighed. "How's it going, Harry? You're looking strong. It should be a good season."

"An easy one," one of the twins scoffed. "No one is beating Harry to the Snitch."

Cedric laughed good-naturedly.

"That won't stop me from trying."

"That's my boy," Amos declared proudly. "You'll get him next time, Ced."

Harry took it as a personal challenge.

He too had been flying a lot over the summer, finally experimenting with the Firebolt Sirius had brought him.

Not that he would be using it during school matches.

Malfoy would only claim he had an unfair advantage and Harry didn't need the broom to beat the blond.

"Gather round, gather round," Mr Weasley suddenly urged, holding up an old welly boot. "Everyone make sure you're touching it. The portkey will activate in ten seconds."

Harry pressed the tip of his finger to it, along with the others.

"Now!"

The familiar feeling of being hooked through the navel washed over him, and a moment later, Harry found himself in another place entirely, laughing at the tangle of limbs that was the Weasley children and Hermione.

"Oi, get off!" Ron grumbled as he fought for his freedom. "Bloody hell, I don't fancy doing that again."

Harry helped him to his feet.

"You get used to it."

Ron muttered under his breath, though his expression brightened as he spotted the dozens upon dozens of tents a short distance away.

"Come on," Mr Weasley urged. "We'll get the tent set up and you can all go and have a look around before the match. I'm sure there'll be plenty for you to see."

Again, Harry found himself following a large group of redheads, though they were much more excitable now that they had arrived. Even Hermione seemed to be enjoying the festivities even if she wasn't a fan of Quidditch.

"Our plot is a little further down," Mr Diggory explained once they'd passed through the security checkpoint. "If we don't see you before, enjoy the game."

Cedric waved as he and his father headed towards where they would be spending the night, and it was only a moment or so later that Harry was brought to a stop.

"He we are," Mr Weasley declared. "Charlie, Percy, you two give me a hand with this. The rest of you, behave yourselves. I do not need your mother on my case when we get home."

"We will," Fred and George assured the man, and Mr Weasley followed their retreat with an expression of unease.

"You'd best go with them, Percy. I can already tell they are out to cause trouble."

Percy did not seem pleased with his assignment, but he followed Fred and George, nonetheless."

"Come on, Harry, let's see what we can find!"

Harry was all but dragged away from the campsite with Hermione and Ginny in tow.

He was excited for the match to come, but he doubted there was anyone else here as giddy as Ron.

When it came to Quidditch, no one was as enthusiastic as Ron, except maybe for Oliver Wood.

A sudden thought crossed Harry's mind and he shook his head of it immediately.

He could only imagine how obsessive a Quidditch captain Ron Weasley would be.

He would likely make Wood seem like a casual fan if he ever attained the position.

(Break)

"Bloody hell this place is ghastly," Sirius commented as he attempted to remove a layer of grime that had formed along the wall of the kitchen.

It was.

Grimmauld Place, a once stately home had fallen into disrepair over the past decade since it had been uninhabited.

Kreacher, the elf that served the family, had neglected his duties in favour of listening to the vile vitriol of his former Mistress's portrait that hung in the hallway.

Try as he might, Sirius had been unable to unburden himself of his mother.

"We will get it clean," Remus assured him. "It will take some time, but we will get there."

Sirius nodded tiredly.

The man did not sleep well, not since before he had spent so many years in Azkaban.

It was as though whenever he closed his eyes, he expected he would wake up in his cell, and he could not face that reality.

"Do you think he will really come?"

Remus offered him a sympathetic smile.

"He promised he would, didn't he?"

Sirius released a deep breath.

He hadn't seen Harry properly since he was a babe in Lily's arms.

Remus had told him everything he could about the boy, but it was never enough.

Sirius had missed out on everything and the guilt of doing so ate away at him just as much as what had happened to James and Lily.

"What's he like, Remus?"

The werewolf snorted.

"Exactly as I told you around twenty times now."

"Tell me again."

Remus relented with a thoughtful nod.

"Harry is like both of them, but completely different at the same time," he began. "He is clever, talented, and quiet, for the most part. I promise they would be proud of him, and you will be too."

"Does he hate me?"

"I think he is disappointed in the choice you made that night, Sirius, but no, Harry does not hate you. It was him that came to convince me and Albus of your innocence. He fought for you when no one else would."

"Just like James."

"Just like James," Remus agreed, "and just like Lily. He promised he will come, so don't you think we should get on with cleaning? It's only a few days away."

Sirius smiled and began scrubbing the grime once more.

They had tried to remove it with magic, but whatever it was that had soiled the paintwork would not budge.

Not that it mattered.

Remus had no doubt that Sirius would scrub the entire house with his bare hands if that was what it took.

Kreacher too was reluctantly helping, but the elf's progress was even slower than theirs as he did the absolute minimum he could get away with.

Still, Grimmauld Place would be clean before Harry arrived in only a few days.

Both Remus and Sirius would see to that.

(Break)

"You are completely insane if you think that will happen!" Ron scoffed.

"Care to make a bet, little brother?" one of the twins challenged.

"I haven't got any gold."

"Then shut your yap," the other twin urged. "Ireland will win the cup but Krum will get the Snitch. What do you think, Harry?"

Harry frowned as he pondered the question.

If Ireland's Chasers were much better than Bulgaria's and they could mount an unassailable lead, Fred and George could be right.

It would be a consolation prize for Krum, but Harry couldn't imagine any Seeker allowing their team to be embarrassed by such a wide margin.

"Maybe," he agreed. "But if Krum gets the Snitch quickly…"

"Which he won't," Charlie predicted. "The Irish Seeker won't even be looking for it. He'll be focused on stopping Krum. He's got years of experience, so he'll be able to keep it up for a while, at least."

Harry nodded.

"I suppose we will have to wait and see."

The stadium was nothing like anything Harry had ever seen before.

To begin with, it was enormous and filled with countless witches and wizards from every corner of the globe.

He'd been impressed with the Burrow's ability to remain standing, but this was something else.

Harry wouldn't even know where to begin estimating the number of attendees, but even before he could consider it, the familiar voice of Cornelius Fudge pulled him from his thoughts.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, it gives me great pleasure to welcome you to the final of the 422nd Quidditch World Cup," he began. "Before we introduce the players and get the match underway, I give you the mascots for the Irish National Team!"

The crowd cheered uproariously as an enormous clover appeared amongst an explosion of green smoke before it burst into thousands of small, indiscernible dots.

"They're not pixies, are they?" Ron asked worriedly, peering through his omnioculars.

"No, they're leprechauns!" Hermione gasped.

Harry laughed along with the rest of the crowd at their antics, shielding himself as the little creatures began showering them with coins.

"Are these galleons?" Ron asked excitedly.

"For now," Charlie chuckled. "They vanish in a few hours. I wouldn't try spending them if I was you. Doing so will get you a long stint in Azkaban if the Ministry can prove you knew what you were doing."

"Great," Ron grumbled, dropping the sizable pile he had accumulated.

"And now for the mascots of the National Team of Bulgaria!" Fudge announced when the leprechauns had vanished.

Almost immediately, Harry felt his head lighten as a foreign magic weaved its way through his defences, and he focused on pushing the attempted influence it was having away.

"Bloody hell, what is that?"

"Veela," Hermione said with her lips pursed.

Harry frowned as he looked to where the girl had nodded.

Assembled and dancing hypnotically was around a few dozen of the most beautiful women Harry had ever seen and he fought to tear his gaze away as he did the magic that threatened to wash over him once more.

The others did not seem to be attempting to do so at all, and Hermione even had to pull Ron away from the railings.

"Honestly, Ronald, have you no self-control?"

Ron said nothing as he continued to gape along with Fred, George, Charlie, and Percy.

"What's wrong with them?" Harry asked.

Hermione looked at him questioningly, surprised that he was not acting similarly.

"It is the magic of the veela," she explained. "They can use it to get the attention of men around them, and even influence those that are weak-minded. Some have been known to use it for their own gain and it gives them a rather poor reputation."

"A reputation you seem to believe," Harry pointed out.

Hermione tutted.

"Why are you not affected?"

"I can feel it," Harry admitted, though he was not going to divulge that it was his studies in the Mind Arts that was currently preventing him acting like the others.

The magic was like nothing he'd ever felt, intoxicating almost but not as much as the beauty it radiated from.

Despite their use of magic to garner attention, none could deny the attractiveness of the veela.

Harry had been noticing females more frequently since he'd had the fateful dream of Malory Gaunt.

He quickly pushed those thoughts aside.

There was a strong chance he was related to the woman, and he did not need his mind more confused than it was regarding anything pertaining to his potential ancestors.

The crowd groaned as the veela stopped stopped dancing, and Harry grinned to himself as Ron and the others tried to figure out what had happened to them in the few moments that had gone by.

"You made a prat of yourselves, that's what happened," Ginny pointed out amusedly.

"And I'd do it again," Ron declared, craning his neck to get another glimpse at the veela who were standing on the side-lines.

Harry couldn't say he blamed him but attempting to vault over the railings from such a height to reach them would not end well.

"Boys," Hermione muttered.

"You're not jealous, are you?"

Hermione scowled at Harry.

"Not even a little," she denied.

Harry chuckled to himself.

He'd never considered whether or not the girl had started to see the opposite sex in such a way but given the whispering she did with Ginny at the mention of Cedric, it was clear that Hermione had.

Harry wondered what kind of person she was likely to date.

Whoever it was would need to have a love of books and academia and be willing to lose arguments and put up with a stubborn girlfriend.

Hermione would be hard work for anyone.

She was very anally retentive in almost everything, and quite irritable if anything disturbed whatever it was she was doing.

Maybe she would spend her life alone?

Harry smirked at the thought of an aged Hermione, surrounded by a dozen or so ginger cats like Crookshanks.

Had her life as a spinster already begun?

"Harry, the match is starting!" Ron informed him, and Harry winced as he rubbed the ribs the boy had jammed his elbow into.

He'd missed the introduction of the teams.

Not that hearing Fudge drone on was a loss of any sorts.

Nonetheless, he shifted his focus to the game, his eyes widening as he took in the display on show.

Professional Quidditch was very different to what they did at Hogwarts; faster, more physical, and with a depth of tactics that would leave Oliver Wood envious.

At first, it was rather difficult to follow.

It seemed that all of the players were atop Firebolts which meant that the pace of the game left the commentator struggling to keep up.

Harry blocked out the man's voice after only a few seconds of listening and chose to try and see what was happening for himself.

By the time he had managed it, his eyes ached from all of the movement and only a moment later, the crowd erupted as Viktor Krum raised his arm triumphantly with the tiny wings of the Snitch flapping against his closed fist.

The Bulgarian's face, however, was a mess.

Blood flowed freely from his crooked nose, and though he had indeed won his personal duel, Ireland would be claiming the victory.

As such, there was no sign of a smile from Krum who scowled as he landed, ignoring the booing, and jeering from the neutral sections of the crowd who had hoped for a longer match.

"That's it then," Charlie declared disappointedly. "Less than thirty minutes, and it's all over."

Harry too had wished it had gone on. He'd only just become accustomed to game and it was over.

"Are all professional matches like that?" he asked.

"No, some can last hours, even days. Bulgaria were getting trounced so Krum decided to play for national pride. I can't say I blame him."

"And he made us a fat bag of gold," one of the twins cheered.

"Best not tell your mother you have been gambling," Mr Weasley urged. "She'll have your hides as well as mine. Come on, let's get back to the campsite before the stadium starts to empty too much and we can't move."

With the match over, there seemed little point in remaining behind and the group took their leave of the stands.

"Enjoy the match from the peasant seats, Potter?" a voice sounded from above.

Harry looked up to see Draco, and the reason why he felt brave enough to mock him in the form of Lucius Malfoy making their way down their own flight of stairs.

"I would have enjoyed listening to it on a broken wireless in a pile of Hippogriff dung more than being sat anywhere near you, gobshite."

"Harry!" Hermione chided whilst the majority of the Weasleys laughed.

It was an insult he'd heard Hardwin Potter use during one of the memories the cloak provided, and it had stuck with him.

Evidently, it was rather effective as Draco reddened in a mixture of embarrassment and anger, though he said nothing as Lucius placed a hand on his shoulder.

"How very uncouth," the man commented. "Then again, I should expect nothing less from someone who cavorts with riffraff. I thought your family had fallen a far as possible when your father married your mother, but perhaps I was wrong. Come, Draco, let us leave Mr Potter to enjoy the rest of his day."

Lucius shot him a final smirk and Harry narrowed his eyes at the man.

"I'm going to gut that bastard," he vowed in a whisper to himself, his fingers twitching towards his wand.

"Come along, Harry," Mr Weasley urged.

Harry followed the rest of the group, silently seething at the insult Malfoy had dared utter, imaging every possible scenario in which he would find himself alone with the man so that he could pay for his words.

He wasn't sure if he'd ever been so furious.

He'd been angry with Draco from time to time, and even others who had provoked his ire, but nothing had cut quite as deep as Lucius's words.

"Harry, you're freezing!" Hermione gasped as she touched his shoulder.

He was, though it had little to do with the temperature.

His magic was positively thrumming within him, the same magic he'd seen the Peverells wield to defend their lands and those they loved.

In this moment, it called for vengeance, and Harry was hard-pressed to ignore it for the time being.

He would get his opportunity to right the wrong Lucius had committed, but now was not the time.

Taking a calming breath, he worked through the exercises to minimise his fury, even if he knew he could not quell it completely.

(Break)

"I miss the days when we did this," Goyle slurred as he poured himself another ale.

"The days we did this?" Nott questioned.

"You know, we'd have a few of these and then go out."

Lucius shook his head.

It wasn't often he indulged in liquor with his former brethren, but when they did gather, the conversation inevitably turned to the old days.

It was just talk that sometimes bordered on the dangerous utterings of another outing under their masks.

Nothing more ever came of it, though tonight felt different.

Lucius was in high spirits.

He'd spent the day in the presence of the uppermost echelons of magical society and had even managed some petty revenge against Harry Potter for his slight against him in the Wizengamot.

The boy needed to know his place.

He may have been the reason for the Dark Lord's fall but the Wizengamot was Lucius's domain and he did not take kindly to any attempting to bring his position into question.

Potter could be a problem if he proved to be astute enough.

He had influence he could build upon if he had a keen mind, something that Lucius doubted, but Dumbledore was no fool.

It was no secret the headmaster despised the current political climate, and though he had his own circle of influence, his fame and brilliance was dated.

Dumbledore was an old lion, but a younger one was on the horizon.

Lucius frowned at the thought.

No, allowing Potter even the opportunity to grasp for power would not do.

"Then why don't we?" he suggested, an idea forming. "Once more for old time's sake."

Those seated around the table in Nott's tent fell silent, the reality of the offer sobering them.

"You're not joking," Nott whispered.

"I am not," Lucius replied with a smirk. "Let us make this World Cup one for the ages."

Nott shook his head.

"Why?' he asked. "You would not do something so potentially risky without good reason. That is not you, Lucius."

"Oh, this is a good enough reason," Lucius assured the man. "I would see you lead us, Nott. When the fools are distracted, I will strike. They are as predictable as ever. When the chaos erupts. There will be those that will be emboldened to play the hero leaving their most protected assets weak and vulnerable."

The others murmured amongst themselves for several moments.

"Potter?" Nott enquired.

Lucius nodded.

"Do you not think our lives will be easier in the years to come if he is not around?"

Nott nodded.

"Good, then do as I say and Potter will no longer be a problem to be tackled when he inevitably grows in strength."

It was risky and went against the very nature of Lucius, who was cautious at the best of times.

Potter, however, was elusive.

It was unlikely that Lucius would ever be presented such an opportunity to be rid of the boy once and for all again, and what better time when much of the old crowd was already gathered and keen on donning their robes once more?