A/N: The canon dialogue between Lucius and Fudge in the Top Box has been slightly altered to prevent non-significant canon details from undermining greater details in this series (in this case, the implication that Fudge had never met Narcissa and Draco before).

Chapter 6: The Lovegoods

Come Sunday at the sound of a beak tapping glass, Draco practically sprinted to his bedroom window. Xanthus peered in at him from the ledge.

We've just arrived in London, Blaise's note said. I've been asking Mamma if we could see each other, and she's still saying no. I think if I bother her anymore about it, she's going to ground me.

"Damn," Draco whispered to himself.

He went downstairs to ask Mum to invite Mrs Zabini to tea the next day. She refused, saying that Mrs Zabini needed time to settle in after a few months away. Draco asked if they could go to London instead. Mum wouldn't invite herself to the Zabini-Domatazzi home, so Draco wrote Blaise to see if his mum would ask them over. She hemmed about it, which was pretty much a no, and by then it was nearly dinner on Monday anyway.

Draco would see Blaise tomorrow at Nott's, but he couldn't get it out of his mind that they needed to have some time together before that. Draco didn't want to be unbearable for Nott, Crabbe, and Goyle to be around, and he didn't want to have to spend the better part of twenty-four hours holding himself back from Blaise. Mum had taken opportunity to remind Draco that Mr and Mrs Nott weren't comfortable with two fourteen year olds being affectionate and sleeping beside each other at their house—which, now Draco thought about it, had been a massive factor in kicking off this downward spiral he found himself in.

"What if I went to Blaise's tomorrow before the party?" Draco tried asking while Mum and Father had cold drinks on the garden terrace after dinner. "Mayfair isn't that far from Fulham. What if Blaise and I walked to Theo's?"

"Through Muggle London?" Mum grimaced. "What if something happened to you along the way? And it isn't as though you and Blaise would be able to hold hands, or anything like that. Then something likely would happen to you if some Muggles took offence to it."

Exasperated, Draco dropped his face into his hands with a long, heavy sigh. He leaned so hard on the back of Mum's chair that it creaked.

"Well, do you have any ideas, then?" Draco asked. "I can't see Blaise until Theo's birthday party. I can't touch him or be too close to him at the party. Blaise's family is going to be here this weekend, and Blaise is going to be gone with them to the Quidditch World Cup. Then Mrs Zabini is going to hog him before we're off to school, and then I don't know what we're going to be allowed to do with a shared dorm."

Draco was so frustrated with the situation, he didn't even care enough to be embarrassed anymore about what his parents suspected he and Blaise might get up to.

"Please help me," Draco whinged.

For the better part of the day, Draco had felt that both his parents were on the verge of snapping at him. Father had booted him from the office when he came through, and Mum disappeared into the master suite for a sizeable chunk of the day. Draco undoubtedly rode on their last collective nerve. However, rather than tell him to go away, suck it up, or anything else along those lines, Mum and Father softened. Maybe it was something in Draco's voice that did it, or they finally saw how much this was hurting him.

"What would you have done, when you were our age?" Draco asked, pushing his luck. "You wouldn't have done anything to be with each other?"

With a sigh, Mum stood. "Sit here, Draco. Wait with your father."

Draco watched Mum go into the drawing room before doing as told. He slouched down in the chair and ran his hands over his face. In all honesty, he hated annoying his parents like this. What choice did he have, though? It hurt to be so separated from Blaise.

"God, I don't miss being that miserable," Father said.

"It's so easy for you and Mum," Draco shot back. "You get to live together, and see each other every day, and sleep in the same bed every night, and nobody can tell you what to do."

"It is easy for us, like that. You're right."

That Father sympathized with him made Draco calm down. He wondered if this same sort of thing had happened twenty-five years ago—Father trying to appeal to his parents about seeing Mum. Draco couldn't imagine Grandfather being as kind as Father was in this moment, nor could he imagine his maternal grandparents being overly-excited about letting their youngest daughter visit a boy unsupervised.

Mum returned.

"I spoke with Luzia through the Floo," she said. "We've agreed that perhaps we ought to meet you boys halfway before you do something drastic to see each other."

"Meet us halfway like how?" Draco asked, perking.

"I've arranged with Luzia to have a morning tea tomorrow. You can come with me, and then she's going to see you and Blaise off through the Floo when you're due at Theodore's."

Draco could just about cry for relief. "Thank you."

"Of course, darling."

To show Mum and Father that they wouldn't regret this kindness—that this wasn't just them caving—Draco was on his best behaviour for the rest of the evening. He was quiet, friendly, and affectionate. Mum smiled when Draco kissed her cheek before heading off for bed.

Draco was ready to go by nine o'clock, come morning. He had his bag packed for the night, Nott's gift ready, and had spent a nearly embarrassing amount of time in front of the mirror after an equally long stint in the shower. He wanted to smell good, feel good, and look good. It was funny that, even if Blaise met him on the other side of the Floo in a potato sack, Draco knew his heart and stomach would be doing all sorts of acrobatics regardless.

He was nervous about Mrs Zabini, was all. That she forfeited the time she'd previously guarded with Blaise might mean she was cross with him. Draco kept that in mind as he met Mum in the drawing room shortly before half-ten. She let him go first in the leap over to Blaise's place. He stepped out when he spotted Mrs Zabini standing in a large, comfortable reception room.

Blaise sat on one of the sofas. His head popped up, and then he stood with a grin. Draco returned it before stepping aside off the hearth rug. Mum appeared next, casually fixing her hair as she emerged from the fireplace. She said her greetings to Mrs Zabini and Blaise, a beat after which Blaise addressed his mum. "Can I show Draco around?"

"Yes, go ahead," Mrs Zabini told him. "We'll be here if you need us."

Blaise led Draco to the double doors open into a hall. They passed more doors open into a kitchen on a corner, and a couple other closed ones. At the end, Blaise opened the final door. Draco caught glimpse of a bed before he was pushed up against the wall. Finally, after what felt like forever, he was being kissed again.

Although Draco and Blaise were closely pressed and their breath came a little ragged, the affection wasn't as harried or desperate as Draco would have anticipated. The anticipation was there, undoubtedly, but maybe there was also a fear that letting it all go at once would be like throwing oil on a fire.

They tapered off into something gentle, touching each other where they could and kissing between happy grins. Blaise ended up with his nose behind Draco's ear. His warm exhale made Draco shiver.

"This is my room, anyway," Blaise said.

Everything looked brand new still, and rather like it had all been bought as a set. There were a few familiar things that were distinctly Blaise, like his school trunk and the photo album Draco recognized on his bedside table.

Blaise threw himself supine onto the bed, and Draco sat cross-legged beside him. He took one of Blaise's hands again. It felt impossible after the past few days to be so calm. Being so close to Blaise—touching him again—had an instant effect. Now that Draco wasn't so worked up, he started to feel a bit silly about what a terror he'd been to get this opportunity.

"D'you reckon your mum's cross with me?" he asked. "She wanted time with you, and I ended up taking it away."

"She's not," Blaise said. "I eavesdropped when your mum called last night. Mamma said she was just as fed up with me, and that I'm not much fun to be around when all I want to do is see you."

Draco laughed, although it was a little strangled by the idea that their mums were fed up with them. Blaise said it in a joking manner though, so maybe their mums had done the same.

"They agreed that we're getting older, and they can't expect us to always want to hang out with them," Blaise spoke more seriously. "They talked about what it had been like at our age. We're teenagers, and all that. We want to be more independent. If this is what us rebelling against them looks like, why should they complain? That's the sort of stuff they were saying."

"My mum said something like that." Draco suddenly remembered. "That we might do something more drastic to see each other."

"Like what, try to Apparate illegally?"

Draco snorted. "Maybe, but I wouldn't dare try that."

"Dunno." Blaise's voice softened. "I might have been getting close."

Combined with the way Blaise looked at Draco when he said that, it was rather unavoidable that Draco's cheeks flush warm. He rolled forward into a kneel, which put him over Blaise. Now this was nice—looking down at him, his head framed by the design of his comforter. Draco's hand sprawled out next to Blaise's ear as he braced himself had a forbidden flavour to it if Draco thought too much on it. Was this what it looked like while having sex with someone?

Draco lowered himself to kiss Blaise, and had to resist tugging at his bottom lip with his teeth when they parted. Instead, backing off in his boldness, Draco laid down beside him. This was established—comfortable.

"So how did Friday go?" Blaise asked. "I saw in the Prophet how much was raised. That was pretty brilliant."

"Yeah," Draco agreed, grinning again in a sudden rush of pride. At second consideration of the Prophet, however, Draco grew serious again. "What else did the article say?"

"Not a whole lot." Blaise shrugged. "How much money was raised, what it was going to, that your father doubled up the amount. . .why?"

"No mention of me?"

Blaise shook his head.

"No photos either, then?"

"No," Blaise said slowly. "Why?"

Draco explained then about Rita Skeeter, Daphne, and Mum. He worried for a moment that Blaise might be upset since he asked why Draco and Daphne hugged in the first place, but seemed to back off that line of thinking when told it was in reaction to the news they were going together. Still, Blaise was a little quiet afterward, which made Draco worry anyway.

"Should I not have let Daphne hug me?" Draco asked.

"It's not like you fancy her or anything, right?"

Draco frowned. "I only fancy you. Daphne's like a sister."

Blaise looked in thought for a moment, then smirked a little. "It's not as if either of us are Daphne's type, anyway."

"No?" Draco caught a smidgeon of Blaise's devious mood. "What is her type? She's only gone with Goyle before, hasn't she?"

"Yeah," Blaise answered. "But she had it bad for Warrington in spring."

"Cassius Warrington?" But this delighted Draco. "The one on the Quidditch team?"

"That same one," Blaise said, chuckled, and then went wide-eyed. "Don't tell Daphne I told you that. She was really embarrassed about it."

"Why? He's not a bad bloke."

"She thinks he's too old," Blaise replied. "That he wouldn't be interested in someone so much younger than him."

"He's not that much older." Draco paused to think, humming. "Well, he's of age in September."

"And she's not fifteen until February, so. . ." Blaise shrugged. "I think she's over him, anyway."

Draco kept on thinking. "So what's her type, then?"

Blaise ran his bottom lip between his teeth. "Well, Pansy put it that Daphne likes the big, ugly ones."

Draco gaped at Blaise, who erupted in laughter. "Goyle and Warrington aren't ugly!"

"That's Pansy, not me." Blaise grinned.

"They just. . .look like people." Like Flint, Draco thought in defence of himself. "And what's Pansy got against Goyle? He's nicer than she is."

"Nothing." Blaise shrugged. "She just doesn't think he's hot, or whatever."

"Well who does she think is hot?"

"Don't know."

"I'll be working that out of her," Draco said. "I'd like to know who she's judging everyone else against."

"Me too, honestly."

Blaise's fingers had wandered up the inside of Draco's shirt while they chatted. They ran lightly over where his hipbone dipped into his waist. Draco didn't think Blaise would oppose to the gap between their bodies closing some, which turned out true after he edged up. Blaise's palm laid flat on Draco's hip instead as they kissed some more.

Blaise looked thoughtful when they eased off. A small wrinkle came between his eyebrows as he considered Draco. "Gianmarco mentioned that Skeeter woman at dinner, last night."

"Oh?"

"She's been loitering around the International Cooperation department," Blaise said. "All summer, apparently. Everyone's complaining about it."

Draco hummed. "I wonder what for."

"I thought maybe because of the World Cup, or that Tournament that's happening at Hogwarts." Blaise ran his fingers through Draco's fringe, pushing it away from his face. "Or maybe it's to do with that missing woman. Although Gianmarco says that depending on who you ask, she's not actually missing."

Draco had closed his eyes at Blaise's touch, although furrowed his brow on that note. "Who's that? No one I know, I'd wager, otherwise I suppose I would've heard."

"Er, Roberta or Bertha, or something."

With a hum short enough to qualify as a grunt, Draco resettled on the bed with his arm laid through Blaise's waist. "Doesn't ring any bells."

Now that Draco had caught Blaise up on Friday's weirdness, he wasn't much interested in talking about Rita Skeeter anymore. They snogged some more, and then decided to see if they might be allowed to the garden square across the street.

Mum was still there, which made Draco a little embarrassed as she and Mrs Zabini assessed him and Blaise. It was probably natural to think they'd been up to something less innocent than kissing and talking. Neither Mum or Mrs Zabini said anything however, other than to say yes when Blaise asked if they could have some tea.

Draco furrowed his brow, confused at the sudden shift of plans, but took his cup anyway. He and Blaise sat together on a sofa apart from their mums. They'd been talking about the woman who went missing—Bertha Jorkins—since Mrs Zabini had met her not long ago while dropping in to visit Gianmarco at the Ministry.

"She certainly had a dottiness about her." Mrs Zabini idly ran her thumb over the handle of her cup. "Kind enough, although Gio steered me away from her when he found us. He said she's a terrible gossip."

"She is," Mum said. "She was a few years below me and Lucius at school. I think because she was in Gryffindor house, I didn't cross paths with her often. I only heard about her occasionally finding herself in trouble. . ."

They didn't have much else to say about her, so they started talking about things that Draco and Blaise could weigh in on. While the four of them chatted, Draco thought he saw what Blaise had wanted to accomplish by sticking around. It ended up being a nice visit—the type of quality time that Mrs Zabini likely sought with Blaise while he'd whinged instead about wanting to meet up with Draco. Blaise got what he wanted, so she did too.

Mum went home shortly before noon, and then Blaise asked Mrs Zabini if he and Draco could go out to the garden square. She was fine with that, so they came back an hour later for lunch. Gianmarco had Flooed in from work to join them. Draco felt sleepy enough afterward (perhaps falling back into the routine of riposo) that he and Blaise tucked in for a kip. Mrs Zabini woke them up shortly before three o'clock, and Draco was still getting his bearing on the world as he and Blaise Flooed over to Nott's house in Fulham.

Crabbe and Goyle had already arrived. They sat in the living room with Nott and his mum, the three boys eating sweets. Draco yawned while holding his gift envelope out to Nott.

"Happy Birthday," he said.

Nott gave him a look. "Don't tell me you're tired already."

"I just woke up," Draco replied, and then stopped talking with a glance at Mrs Nott. Since he and Blaise arrived at the same time, it was pretty apparent that they'd come together. Blaise rubbing one of his eyes didn't help the image.

"Let's go downstairs," Nott suggested.

Because Draco had gotten the pent-up affection out of his system, he was better prepared to behave himself. He and Blaise easily agreed to the base rules Nott passed along from his parents: the other boys would sleep between them come bedtime, and they would keep their hands to themselves.

The other boys didn't care so much about the latter rule when out of Nott's parents' line of sight, so long as Draco and Blaise weren't obnoxious about it. The conversation came up briefly before sleep about how they ought to handle the dormitory at school. They were too tired to discuss it properly, by that point; it was decided they would give it the rest of summer to think it all over.

A few days later, Blaise's latest note in his and Draco's back-and-forth stated that he wouldn't be able to write past dinner that evening. The group coming from Nuovo Nora to attend the World Cup would arrive, and then they would all be off to camp at the stadium site in Dartmoor.

This put Draco into thought. He hadn't made any progress yet on deciding who ought to join him and Blaise in the Top Box. Draco headed down to the manor office to see Father.

"Hullo." Draco put his hands into his trouser pockets.

Father glanced over from where he sifted through a pile of post. "Did you need something?"

"I wanted to ask your opinion," Draco said. "You know those three seats we have for the Top Box?"

"Mhm." Father pulled a piece of parchment out of the pile and turned to fully face the desk.

"So there's me and Blaise," Draco replied, "but I'm not sure how to handle the third. How do I pick which of my friends to come up there with us without upsetting the other two?"

Father's quill stopped, and he furrowed his brow before looking at Draco overtop his work glasses. "What are you talking about?"

"The three seats Mr Fudge gave us," Draco reiterated. "I'm trying to figure out who to invite."

"Those seats are for you, me, and your mother."

"They—?" Draco's face fell. "What?"

"They're for the three of us," Father said. "Cornelius wants us in the Top Box as his guests."

Draco's mouth opened and closed like a fish gaping for air. "This is the first I'm hearing of it!"

"Your mother and I have discussed it at dinner at least twice."

"You have not!"

"Were you actually listening?" Father's eyebrows went up. "Or were you lost in daydreams?"

"But do you and Mum really want to sit up there?" Draco asked. "I didn't even know Mum was coming."

"She is now, because she was invited."

"If she doesn't want to, then what if Blaise takes her seat?" Draco asked. "You, me, and him could go, and then she doesn't have to."

"She was personally invited, as were you and I," Father said. "It would be very rude to give her seat to someone else. It's a gift—a generous one."

"But do I really have to go, then?" Draco replied, thinking fast. "I was going to sit with my friends at the match! And now I can't at all? Isn't that rude? I think it's ruder, actually, to do that to my friends than to Mr Fudge!"

"Cornelius invited you the same way he invited me and your mother." Father took his work glasses off and set them on the desk. "I thought you understood all this."

"No!" Draco's voice climbed along with his despondency. "You never told me!"

Father let out a little sigh. "You haven't told Blaise he's coming with you to the Top Box, have you?"

Draco shook his head, although he wished he had. Maybe then, Father would feel more compelled to make this work.

"Well, at least you don't have to let him down," Father said. "I'm sorry, Draco. I didn't realize you weren't up to speed on how Monday will go."

Draco gaped at Father for a few seconds before scoffing and storming out of the office. He was going to have to break some bad news to Blaise, regardless. No longer would they be meeting up at the World Cup. Draco didn't even want to go anymore.

Blaise was disappointed, although he had the suggestion that maybe Draco could come camping with him. Feeling hopeful and excited again, Draco headed back down to the office to ask Father about it. Father looked receptive, but then he asked Draco if he'd finished his summer homework yet. Draco hadn't. Father said no then to going with Blaise's family. Draco begged that he would do his homework later, and then Father snapped and asked what exactly he'd been doing while shut up in his rooms all summer if not his homework. Draco blanching and flushing in such rapid succession, gone speechless, made the topic drop like a hot coal.

The rest of the day was lost to a sulk. As much as Draco loathed to do it, he woke up the next morning with purpose. It took a great chunk of the day—until the sky turned red at sunset—but the last of his homework went away into his school trunk. Although it was too late to go camping with Blaise, at least now Father couldn't say no in future on the basis he had other things needing done.

Draco wished that restored his excitement about the World Cup. He hadn't realized just how much more it meant to go when it was with his friends.

"Could we still meet up with everyone, just to say hello?" Draco asked late-afternoon on Monday. "Before we head up to the Top Box?"

"I don't see why not," Father said with a shrug. "We know where they'll be, at any rate."

Draco, Mum, and Father were due to Apparate shortly after seven o'clock. Father kept a close eye on his watch as they stood in the lobby, and then took Draco with him. A wall of noise greeted them on the other side. The Apparation point was packed.

A man regarded Draco and Father, then consulted a piece of parchment. "Malfoy, party of three? Where's your third?"

He'd only spoken the final word when Mum popped in behind Father. With a firm nod that to Draco spelled satisfied bureaucracy, the man told them to join the queue and make room for the next arrivals. Meanwhile, more pops sounded throughout the well-lit wood.

There were so many people. Draco saw nobody he knew on the way into the stadium. The people he did see tended to speak a language other than English. He wondered who they all were, and where they were from. He tried to guess, based on their clothing and the sounds of their words.

"Draco!"

Draco's gaze landed on Blaise, and his stomach jumped so violently that his breath caught. Draco yanked his arm free of Father's grip and beelined. He and Blaise caught each other in a tight hug, Draco groaning into it as he pressed his nose into Blaise's neck. His scent was familiar and calming. Draco was grinning when he and Blaise straightened up, although that vanished as they followed up with a kiss.

"Ugh. Seriously?"

"Shut up, Nott," Draco broke contact to say. "Don't look, if it bothers you so much."

Nott had been laughing, which somewhat lowered Draco's heckles. He supposed he ought to be embarrassed that he'd kissed his boyfriend in front of everyone—his parents again, Crabbe, Goyle, Nott, and their fathers—but Draco decided he didn't care. The adults weren't paying attention, anyway.

"So you really can't sit with us?" Crabbe asked. "What if one of our dads went with your parents? Switch spots. I can't say they'd complain."

"They can't," Draco sullenly replied, kicking at the stadium floor. "It's so stupid. We can't say no to the Minister about going up to the Top Box. Can't change who's in the seats. Can't not show up—even just me. I asked Father, and he said no."

"You sure have it tough, Malfoy." Nott slung an arm around Draco's neck. "Getting invited to things by the Minister himself, and having to watch the match from the best seats. So rough."

"Sure wouldn't want it to happen to me," Crabbe added, grinning.

"Never," Goyle added.

"It is terrible!" Draco said earnestly as they all laughed at him. "I'd much rather sit here with you lot."

"Hey." Goyle lit up. "Why don't you ask if you can stay with us after the match?"

"Yeah!" Nott agreed. "Dad and I brought our own tent, and we made a spot with Crabbe and Goyles' family. Ask."

Draco didn't need to be told twice. He went over to the adults, loitering as he waited for a break in the conversation. The other boys hovered behind him.

"Yes?" Father looked half-amused at the ambush.

"Theo's asked me to stay with him after the match," he said with a glance at Mr Nott. "Can I?"

"We can make extra beds," Mr Nott said, then elbowed Father. "You could always stay too, Lucius. What about you, Narcissa?"

Mum wrinkled her nose, to which all the men laughed.

Mr Nott handed his map of the campsite over to Father, and Draco returned with the boys to where they'd been standing. He took Blaise's hand in the process.

"Are you staying with Nott?" he asked.

Blaise shook his head, although ended it with a small smile. "My family's site isn't all that far away from Crabbe and Goyles', though. We ran into each other completely by accident, wandering around."

"Yep," Goyle confirmed.

They started talking about the path between ('take a left at the water tap, a right under the Greek flag. . .') when Father called Draco's name and gestured him over.

Draco turned to Blaise. "Well, I suppose we're off."

"I should be too," Blaise said. "See you later, maybe?"

They kissed to exaggerated groans beside them. Draco frowned at Crabbe, Goyle, and Nott, who were all silently laughing. "Look away, then!"

"Don't worry about them." Blaise turned Draco's chin back. "They can mind themselves."

They kissed slower and more gently, taking their time. The other boys begrudgingly ignored them until Draco spoke out in farewell. "See you after the match."

With various 'see you's, Draco headed back to Mum and Father. His mood certainly improved, and now he felt a flutter of excitement. Draco would be in the Top Box. All right, maybe that was a brilliant thing—a once in a lifetime experience, normally only afforded to top governmental officials. For Father to count closely enough to be personally invited by the Minister had to mean something. It had to mean something that Draco had been personally invited—

"Harry Potter," a voice interrupted Draco's thoughts from ahead as he, Father, and Mum approached the Top Box entrance. "Oh, come on now, you know who he is. . ."

Draco sneered instinctively, his gut souring as though splashed with acid. That was the last name he wanted to hear while trying to enjoy this evening. It was even more annoying when Draco could see who was talking: Mr Fudge, trying to make an important-looking man understand who Potter was, and probably why he was worth getting excited about. The thing was, that man did get excited and started speaking in a foreign language while pointing—

While pointing at Potter.

"You have got to be absolutely fucking kidding me," Draco spoke in a deadpan voice.

"Language, Draco!" Mum hissed. "What—?"

She looked ahead, and her expression curled into a sneer similar to that of Father's. God, of course the Boy Who Lived would be a showcased feature of Magical Britain—

But the news was worse yet. Half of the Top Box had been overrun by Weasleys.

"I want to go home," Draco said. "This isn't worth it. I can't—"

"They may have invaded our space," Father cut Draco off, nudging him forward, "but that doesn't mean we allow them to push us out. This isn't a place they truly belong."

Father went first at least, so Draco had a buffer. The Weasleys—eight of them, plus Potter and Granger—took up the entire front row. Father edged down along the back. Mr Fudge was talking to Potter.

". . .these Bulgarian blighters have been trying to cadge all the best places—" (they weren't the only ones, Draco thought) "—Ah! And here's Lucius!"

"Fudge." Father extended his hand. "How are you?"

"Good, good." Mr Fudge bowed his head toward Mum and grinned at Draco. When he released Father's hand, he turned to the foreign man that had been excited about Potter. "Allow me to introduce you to Mr Oblansk—Obalonsk—Mr—well, he's the Bulgarian Minister for 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?"

Father peered down at Mr Weasley over his nose. The corner of Father's lips quirked as he looked along the row, and he let out a small huff of air.

"Good lord, Arthur," Father said in a tone of mock concern. "What did you have to sell to get seats in the Top Box? Surely your house wouldn't have fetched this much."

Mr Weasley's cheek twitched, but whatever he might have wanted to say seemed to die in his throat when Fudge, beaming, put an amiable hand on Father's arm.

"Lucius has just given a very generous contribution to St Mungo's, Arthur," Fudge said. "He's here as my guest."

"How. . .how nice," Mr Weasley forced himself to say.

Finally, Father kept moving toward their seats. Draco returned Potter, Weasley, and Granger's glares before deciding that that would be the extent of the attention they got from him this evening.

He stared resolutely at the scoreboard across the way when Father gently elbowed him. Draco turned his face, although Father already leaned down toward his ear.

"Is that the girl who struck you?" he asked.

Draco followed Father's gaze, then nodded. "That's her. Hermione Granger."

Father already knew Granger's name from everything to do with that mountain troll, Hagrid's dragon, when Draco had called her a Mudblood in second year, and when Ellie Selwyn had let the story slip at the summer solstice gala about her slapping Draco. Draco didn't think Father had actually met Granger before. Father's expression as he committed the back of her head to the name—cold and calculating—said as much.

Draco wondered what exactly Father was thinking about, but that abandoned his mind pretty thoroughly when the Veela walked out onto the pitch. The Top Box erupted into turmoil. Even Father sat up straight with a keen hum of interest, although Draco felt the breeze as Mum reached over him and put a hand on Father's shoulder to stop his attempt to stand.

Father slouched down in his seat, crossed his arms, and settled into a mope that Draco figured ought to rival his the past few days. Draco gaped at him, unable to believe him capable of it. Mum had pressed her lips to stifle her amusement, although she snorted along with Draco when they looked at each other.

The two of them weren't bothered by the Veela. Nor was Ludo Bagman, who had his eyes screwed up tightly and his fingers in his ears. The only other two that weren't were Ginny Weasley and Granger. As Draco took in what Potter and all the other Weasleys were doing, he had to wonder what set him apart.

Soon enough, the Veela were gone and everything was moving along. Father came out of his sulk looking a bit embarrassed. Draco thought it probably best not to say anything. Leprechauns had taken to the air anyway, and Draco had a good snicker with Father over how excited the Weasleys grew from all the raining gold.

"It'll vanish later," Father whispered in Draco's ear. "But they don't need to know that, do they?"

The Irish and Bulgarian teams came out onto the pitch next, and Draco became glued to the pair of Omnioculi he'd bought in Rome. An ache presented itself as Draco watched Aiden Lynch and Viktor Krum battle it out for capture of the Snitch. Maybe he should have kept the Firebolt Father bought him.

Krum caught the Snitch for Bulgaria in the end, although Ireland won the match. Draco felt rather ambivalent about the results. He hadn't been rooting for either team in particular. Still thinking hard on some of the moves he'd seen Lynch and Krum do, Draco jumped when Father nudged him.

"Let's go." He raised his voice over the cheering of a hundred-thousand people so that Draco could actually hear him. "We'll get ahead of the crowd."

Even then, it took a very long time to make their way out of the stadium. Draco and Father walked Mum to the Apparation point.

"I suppose this is me," Mum said, taking one each of Draco and Father's hands in hers. "You two behave yourselves tonight."

"No promises," Father replied.

Mum laughed as she pulled him closer to her. She kissed him on the cheek, then did the same to Draco. "I'll have Sooky put your overnight things together. She should be ready to bring them to you by the time you've met up with the others."

"All right," Father said. "I love you."

Draco rolled his eyes as Mum replied to Father in kind and they kissed again, this time on the lips. "Can we go now?"

"Hey now," Father laughed. "All these times we've been patient for you."

Draco gave him a bald look, refusing to soften when Father grinned in jest and Mum softly laughed.

"Love you," Mum said as she cupped Draco's cheek affectionately. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yeah, love you too," Draco begrudgingly replied. "See you."

He and Father left, the path forward through the cool, dark evening lit by lanterns. From ahead came the distant sounds of celebration, occasionally punctuated by explosions. Sometimes, fireworks erupted above.

There was a calmness in it, which Draco enjoyed. It was like the trees he and Father quietly walked through cushioned them from the chaos.

Father started patting down his robes. "I suppose we ought to figure out where exactly we're going."

Come to a stop, they had to move off to the side to avoid being walked into. The lanterns weren't bright enough to illuminate the map, so Father brought his wand out as well.

"Hold this," Father told Draco after the tip lit up.

Draco took it and had to suppress a laugh as Father unfolded—and unfolded—and unfolded—the map. It was as large as a tablecloth.

"Well," Father said. "Monty said he marked the camp's location."

Draco moved Father's wand as needed to try and find the X. He became aware of snapping branches, crunching underbrush, and the soft murmur of voices deeper in the woods. Between Father's wand and the trail lanterns, Draco's eyes wouldn't adjust enough to see beyond the tree line. He tried to crane over the bushes, but that was no use either.

The voices became clearer as whoever they belonged to neared. They were excited and happy, which tempered the developing ball of anxiety in Draco's stomach. There were two people, he reckoned, a man and a woman—no, maybe a girl. She sounded young.

"Wonderful, Luna, wonderful!" the man was saying. "Let the blessing of the Lucharachán guide your steps! You don't need light to see—not when the red-coated variety has accepted your proffered coin—"

There was a thud. "Oof!"

"No matter, no matter. . ." the man said, continuing to sound excited. "Mischievous little ones, so mischievous. . ."

"There's light, Daddy. And people."

The bushes ahead of Draco and Father rustled. A girl wrapped in what looked like red and green tulle emerged. Her long, blonde hair turned an ethereal shade when contrasted between that, the lantern light, and just a touch of Father's wandlight. Leaves and twigs poked out of it, and it had knotted in places. Father looked up, and inhaled sharply as though startled. His gaze went wide.

Maybe because Draco and Father were stationary against everyone else, the girl's gaze landed on them. She stared, eyes unblinking. The bushes she had emerged from rustled. A man just as mucked up as her stepped out.

"What is it, Luna?" he asked, placing a hand on her shoulder. He followed her gaze, and then his eyes went nearly as big as hers.

The man stared at Father, and Draco stared at the girl. Now he recognized her. This was Luna Lovegood, a Ravenclaw girl in the year below him at school. He'd received this scrutiny from her a few times in past, although Draco could never tell if he was actually the subject of interest. Luna always looked like she considered something fifty miles past Draco.

She wasn't looking at him right now, but Father. The man she was with let out a long, careful exhale.

"So this is where we've arrived," he spoke. "The Lucharachán have expressed their intent. The time has come. Hello, Lucius."

Draco felt vaguely as though he existed outside of his body. The entire situation was so strange. He couldn't imagine a single world in which Father and this man knew each other. And what were the Lucharachán? Draco searched Luna and the man for any more clues as to what was going on. They weren't wearing any footwear, which did little to abet Draco's confusion.

The man, still wide-eyed and with his hand on Luna's back, cautiously approached Father and Draco.

"Did you never receive any of my letters?" the man asked Father, and then he looked at Draco. Draco didn't like how the man lit up with delight. "But this is your son! Draco, if I'm not mistaken? But I've seen you before, once or twice in the society pages, and at the train station—"

"You will not speak to him."

The words came out of Father's mouth so coldly that Draco was almost surprised their surroundings didn't bloom with hoarfrost. The man looked back to Father, and Draco did the same. Such was the expression of utter hatred on Father's face that Draco was reminded of his encounter with a Boggart. This man was very lucky that Draco currently held Father's wand.

"Of—of course!" the man replied, softening in his strangeness slightly as he put his arm around Luna. She, Draco realized, had not yet broken her stare on Father. "But you haven't met—this is Luna."

Father maintained his stare on the man, not acknowledging Luna.

"Doesn't she look so much like her mother?" the man asked, almost sounding desperate. "The Lucharachán have brought us here, to this very spot where you are. Surely you must recognize—?"

"I recognize nothing." Father snatched his wand from Draco, the tip extinguished, and he held it so that the map obscured view from the people passing them by. Father's voice trembled in a similarly threatening matter when he spoke again. "You will leave me and my son alone. That is not a request."

The man blinked at Father's wand. "I—"

"We're going, Draco," Father said, nearly bumping Luna as he passed her by. Since Draco didn't move, both Luna and the man redirected their gaze to him. He didn't really know what to do, although jolted when Father snapped at him in a way he never had before. "Draco! Get over here!"

Draco skirted around the Lovegoods and fell in step. He didn't dare look back. His heart pounded from the utter weirdness of it all. He couldn't help but feel as though he'd done something wrong, and like he was in trouble. Father was definitely angry. He breathed like he'd been running. When he lit his wandtip again to go over the map while they walked, Draco saw that his eyes were even irritated by it. They had gone red at the rims.

Draco opened his mouth a few times to say something, but ultimately decided he shouldn't. When they stepped out of the woods at the end of the path, Father took a long, steadying breath.

"This way," Father told him, pointing left. "There's a bit of a walk ahead of us yet."