The Eight Years We Wasted

Fourth Year- The Quidditch World Cup

Fourth Year- The Quidditch World Cup

He saw her first at the Quidditch World Cup, and he couldn't stop the sneer from curling his lips. She was with Weasley- no shock there- and Draco figured she'd ruin even this for him.

His black eye hadn't settled, and when his father managed to get out of him how he had acquired it, he had refused to let him cover it up or heal it with magic. It was an insult, frankly, and he noticed the way his mother's lips would purse when she saw it. He hadn't had the guts to tell his Aunt Bella the truth when she'd demanded to know what happened to him over dinner, and it seemed neither did his father, who merely curled his lip behind his goblet.

Draco couldn't help but stare at her. She looked too happy, and her laugh bubbled from her throat, exploding in the air like fireworks. He scowled.

"Don't pout, Draco," his father drawled cuttingly, and Draco snapped his eyes away. His father raised a blonde eyebrow, gaze drifting upwards. His smirk was small but cruel. "My, if I didn't know any better, I'd say she was under your skin."

"She is not-" he started to spit, but realised he was far too defensive. He stopped. "Well, it's a good thing you do know better."

His voice was bland, though his father saw right through it.

Lucius commented, "She's not as plain as you made her out to be."

Draco daren't reply. His father hummed in finality, looking away.

"Such a shame," he said.

The topic had been dropped after that because Draco didn't like the swirl of unease that coiled through his stomach. He shook his head, sparing a final glance up at her, and pushed her from his mind. He was successful in that aspect at least. He didn't think about her at all for the rest of the day, not when Krum caught the snitch for Bulgaria, not when Ireland won anyway, not even during the celebrations that followed.

Draco did, however, think about her when a scream broke through the laughter and cheers.

His blood ran cold, and her face appeared so abruptly behind his eyelids that it was gone when he next blinked. He ran to the front of his tent, shoving open the flap. His heart dropped to his gut like a stone in water.

There was ruin everywhere. Tents were on fire, people were on fire, running and screaming. Crowds surged this way and that, trying to escape the labyrinthine campsite in an attempt to flee the throng of people dressed in black, silver masks glinting wickedly in the torchlight. Death Eaters.

Draco didn't wait. Though he knew he was probably the safest one here, he could only think of one thing. He swallowed thickly, feeling his legs move of their own accord, so fast he stumbled over pegs in the ground and rocks and- was that a body?

No. He didn't stop to check. He sped up his pace, slipping into the shadows of the forest, pretending the harsh and panicked pants he could hear weren't his own. He had to find them. He had to find her-

And it would seem luck, or fate, or whatever twisted fuck you wanted to blame it on, was on his side.

Draco heard Weasley first, and his feet stopped in their tracks, suddenly numb and heavy. They were walking towards him, swerving round the thin trees that groped skyward, away from the sudden infestation of the forest.

He cursed himself, lips curling. The abhorrence in his gut, however, was not enough to prevent him from stepping out of the darkness and into their path.

The Golden Trio halted. They stared at him; three pairs of eyes, each different then the last, with varying degrees of mistrust and curiosity and loathing. Draco avoided hers.

"What are you doing here, Malfoy?" asked Weasley suspiciously. "Shouldn't you be in line with daddy-?"

"Granger, they're after Muggles," he cut him off, a sick jolt of pleasure he entertained for only a second when Weasley's ears went pink, before he looked at the girl in question. "D'you want to be showing off your knickers in mid-air? Because if you do, hang around... they're moving this way, and it would give us all a laugh."

She just stared at him.

He could see Weasley fuming, his entire face slowly but surely turning that ugly pink. He couldn't understand why she was still here, and for some reason, he felt panic jolt through him, and it made the scathing in his voice tremble. "What part of that isn't getting through to you? They're coming this way-"

"If I didn't know you, Malfoy," said Potter. Draco's eyes nearly rolled back into his head out of pure exasperation. "I'd say you sound concerned."

"Not in this lifetime, Potter," he spat. Granger was still just staring at him. There was something about the way she looked though, like she could see right through him. Draco didn't know why this unnerved him- he didn't know what there was to see. "I just want to keep my breakfast down."

"Why, you bastard," snarled Weasley.

Draco's eyes cut to him. "It's like you're not listening to me. Take your girlfriend, and run, Weasel. I know a few of my father's friends who would love to show her what Muggles are good for."

Potter had to restrain Weasley from launching himself at him, but Draco was watching Granger. She looked ashen, like she understood that parading her around in her knickers was not the worst thing those people could do. He was glad it was finally getting through to her. He'd seen her blood before, and it unnerved him how red it was. Draco did not want to see it spilled again.

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