Drarry & The Goblet of Fire: 4th year Re-write

Chapter 9 ~ The Dark Mark

A roar goes up when Krum catches the snitch. The Irish fans cheer for the end of the game securing their already massive lead and the Bulgarian fans cheer to salvage what's left of their pride.

Harry's Ireland hat and jacket light up, shouting the names of the players in the announcer's voice. He and Draco cheer, not because they've really managed to enjoy the game through the threat of Death Eater's presence, but because cheering feels better than worrying.

"Well, I guess this is goodbye," Draco says solemnly, still not looking at Harry as the players exit the field, thunder made by thousands of clapping hands following them out.

"What?" It takes Harry a moment to understand, too caught up in the moment. "Oh, yeah." he looks down at his feet.

Neither of them wants to leave. Harry knows his friends are probably worried sick, and that he should probably go back to them, but he can't leave Draco knowing what he does now. If the Death Eaters truly are trying to make a resurgence and they're going after anyone who isn't pure blood, could Draco be on that list?

"Hey, you know, nothing has happened yet." Harry points out. Draco gives the barest hint of a smile. "If something was going to happen, it'd make sense to do it during the game, when no one's looking . . . so we could hang out?"

"Well, if you insist, Potter. I know I could certainly use a distraction." He gestures for Harry to follow him. Under the cover of his large Ireland hat, Harry follows Draco and descends down the stairs of the bright arena and into the night.

-

The Malfoy tent is empty, the only occupants being the twelve peacocks tethered outside. They hiss at Draco as he enters. Harry hesitates, but not for long before Draco drags him inside.

The tent is more of a house than a tent. 'If this is their tent, what must Malfoy's house look like?'

Harry's thoughts are interrupted with a loud, "Got it! Let's go!" as Draco emerges from the living room with a bottle of Firewhiskey.

"That looks expensive," Harry says warily. He may not be familiar with the ins and outs of wizard alcohol but he knows it looks a lot like what Uncle Vernon saved for special occasions.

"Oh, don't worry, Father's only been saving it for a couple of years."

'That sounds like something he'll get in big trouble for.' But the rebellious glint in Draco's eyes makes Harry go along with it.

-

The two tote the whiskey out to the forest and take turns sipping from the bottle. At first, they cough and splutter, but as the alcohol floods their systems and their taste buds dull, they acclimate to the fiery drink.

"I've actually never drank before, not really. No more than a sip of Mother's wine when she allowed it." Draco admits.

"That's still more than me, I haven't even really had more than one soft drink," Harry tells him.

In five minutes, they don't care how loud their laughter is, inhibitions lowered significantly. It feels as if somehow, they know each other better than they did this morning.

"Psst!" Draco flicks Harry's forehead, hissing way too loudly for how close they are. "Wanna do underage magic?"

"Hell yeah!"

It takes them longer than it should to rise to their feet, legs shaking like newborn calves, until the dizziness passes.

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