𝐁𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐞 𝐀𝐦𝐞 | 𝐇.𝐏.

𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝟒 - 𝟏

Whispers were beginning to go around. Mother's face had a permanent pinched look to it, and father was never home much, always off on "work." Draco and I knew better.

Rumors about the Dark Lord's power growing again spread quickly, and they sounded stronger and scarier the more time went by. Draco and I had never agreed on much, but on this we did: the Dark Lord returning could mean nothing good for our family.

So when father asked if both Draco and I would like to go to the Quidditch World Cup with him, I was suspicious. Even mother, who hated the prospect of me learning the sport, didn't argue. We ended up obliging, but I really only consented to go because I knew that Potter, Granger, and Weasley's family would be there as well.

So, when the day of the match came, father called us into the drawing room. There, a cracked, dirty teacup sat. A Portkey. 

"I need you both to stay with me the entire time. Don't go wandering off, and don't go talking to others that I wouldn't talk to," father instructed us sternly. 

"Yes, father," we both obeyed.

"Any minute now," father muttered, looking down at his pocket watch. A second later he said, "Now."

Draco and I touched our hands to the broken china.

"Be good!" My mother called out faintly as we were hurled through space. We landed hard on the grass a couple miles from a small, dinky stand. The closer we got, the more sights suddenly appeared. The once empty fields of grass now held hundreds of thousands of tents, voices could be heard yelling to each other and laughing, and folk music played in the background. 

"Davies. Wilson," my father nodded cooly to each in turn. Next to them, a ginormous box of used Portkeys sat, overflowing. 

"Malfoy," the both replied, respectfully but nervously.

Father handed them the Portkey and a small pouch of Galleons, and they gave us our tickets. 

"Have a good afternoon," my father sniffed, and whisked us away. When we were out of ear shot he muttered, "Low class Ministry workers. Pathetic."

As we made our way through the sea of people, I kept an eye out for familiar faces. Unfortunately, none were spotted. It was extremely crowded though, and people on low brooms kept speeding over our heads. 

Eventually, we found our tent. It was modest for father, but, then again, that wasn't saying much. The material of the tent was created from some shiny, deep green fabric, and it glinted beautifully in the slowly dimming light. A clean, white stone path led up to the flap, and white peacocks strutted about. 

The inner area was separated into a gleaming, blank kitchen, small sitting area, and three beds. Two were smaller, right next to each other, and one was much more large and grand, evidently father's.

A house elf from home cooked us a quiet dinner of meat and some fancy cheeses that I didn't know the names of. Then Draco and I walked outside, father trusting enough to allow us to find fellow students to socialize with.

Draco quickly found his friends from school, and I cursed under my breath when Nott saw me. 

"Alexandra!" He exclaimed in feigned, delighted shock. "Fancy seeing you here. What brings you to this old hill out in the middle of nowhere?"

"Just an international Quidditch game," I replied dryly.

"Really? That's happening today?" He asked with a teasing expression on his face. 

"Nott, you aren't as funny as you think you are," I said.

He put a hand over his heart and gasped in hurt. "And here I was, thinking we were friends."