Ex-Friends || A Drarry Story

Four: Two

Fag, is what Draco had called him. That word left a bitter taste in his mouth and in his heart. Raw, not anger was filling his chest, remembering how Draco's face had contorted, sneering nastily, the hand that wasn't holding his flower filled journal balled into a fist.

But Draco had kissed him first. Harry had only asked for a second.it wasn't his fault, that Draco had kissed him. Maybe it was Harry's fault for trying to ask for a third. Or for asking that he write to him and help distract Harry from his summer at Privet Drive. Or it was because he had scared him in the dark of night.

In his own tent, Draco tossed and turned in his bed, hearing the few House-Elves they had brought tidying quietly, not wanting to wake their master, Lucius Malfoy. But Draco's mind was as usual, turning to Harry Potter. He knew he shouldn't have said what he said, but he couldn't help himself. That was what he was supposed to do. He was meant to be short with Harry, if he truly had feelings for him. His parents love each other, and they act just the same way.

Finally, he fell asleep. It felt like his slumber only lasted a moment before he had to wake up again, feeling the sense of excitement rising like a palpable cloud over the campsite when him and his father stepped outside. Several tents around were coated in shamrocks, obviously supporting Ireland. By dusk, even Draco's excitement was growing.

"Hurry along, Draco," said his father.

"Are you not coming, Father?"

Lucius Malfoy's expression was, surprisingly, excited. "No, I have. . .other matters to attend to. You're to come straight here after the match is finished."

"Yes, Father."

Hurrying along, Draco followed the crowd of witches and wizards through the woods, hearing laughter, excited chattering, and shouts. The feverish happiness was infectious, and quickly grew on Draco.at last, the crowd emerged on the other side, and Draco found himself in the shadow of a gigantic stadium. The walls were gold, and Draco heard someone say, "Seats over a hundred thousand people!"

The stairs into the stadium were a rich purple, and Draco made his way to the top box. There were about twenty velvet purple seats, and he saw seven redheads, Hermione Granger, Ronald Weasley, and Harry Potter already seated. He could feel Potter's emerald eyes watching him, and he avoided eye contact as best he could as he found his own seat, which was, unfortunately, right behind him.

"So, Weasley, " he hissed softly, "what did your family have to sell in order to get up here?" he saw Weasleys shoulders tense. "Surely your home didn't even cover just one of you to be here."

"Shut up, Malfoy."

Before Draco could say anything else, he heard a tall, balding redhead say, "Oh, I wonder what Bulgaria has brought—Veela!"

A hundred Veela were gliding onto the field, looking etheral with their white-gold hair fanning out behind them, their skin shining moon-bright. The Veela began to dance, and he watched Harry Potter stand from his seat, slowly walking towards the edge of the box. Several of the Weasleys, besides Ronald, an older one with burn scars, and the girl had their hands over their ears and their eyes closed tightly.

As Harry put a foot on the railing of the box, Draco leapt forward, seizing the back of his shirt, receiving looks from Granger, the girl, and the burned Weasley. The Veela stopped their singing and dancing, and, dazed, Harry turned around as Draco yanked him back into his "You idiots!" he said to Granger. "Keep your friend from jumping out of the damn box."

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Oliver Wood had come to the World Cup alone. Luckily for Percy, his family was too busy celebrating too much to notice him slipping away, outside of their tent. It was pandemonium outside and he quickly made his way to Oliver's tent, seeing him sitting on the floor with his arms crossed.