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Friend or Foe	By : Pseudonymous_Entity Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 1918 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
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Chapter List
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It was loud.
"...almost there Harry. Did you see that man with the-"
Sound hammered in on him from all sides. Sporadically lights flashed in the corner of his eyes. The arena was enormous.
Harry often thought before that things were enormous. Hogwarts. Hagrid. Uncle Vernon. No. This here was the literal interpretation of the definition. Wizards and Witches from all over the world packed together in celebration of Quidditch. A magical sport played on broomsticks.
"Quit leaning over so far Ronald!"
Titling his head Harry peered up the staircases. He tried to spot the end of it. He couldn't though they had to be close to the Minster's box at any rate.
Harry shuffled to the side, closed his eyes, relished in being this high in the air. With the wind slicing through every so often, the thundering vibrations beneath his feet ... he could almost pretend he was back at Hogwarts. Preparing for a game of his own.
He wouldn't be able to fly again until school started in September. Not properly. Not at break neck speed with fear itching along his spine that this might be the time he didn't get there first. That this might be the time he didn't turn quick enough and slammed into the columns. His heart beat a little faster just imagining it.
Harry lived for competition.
"...official beater's sticks. I wonder if they hit any harder than the ones at school-"
It was almost time for the start of the Quidditch World Cup.
When Ron first suggested bringing Harry along the smaller boy said yes straight away. Any excuse to spend as little time with his relatives as possible. Surprisingly the large crowds weren't so bad. Spending the day among the numerous unlikely shaped tents, the painted faces and the Quidditch crazy fans had rubbed off on him. It was actually sort of fun.
If nothing else he might learn some new maneuvers to try out in his own games.
A broad shouldered red head stopped just in front of Harry and leaned over the railing to look down. Harry peered over to look as well. It was rather a far cry from the ground. Probably for the best he wasn't afraid of heights.
"Blimey dad how far up do you think we are?" Ron asked.
"Let's put it this way, if it rains you will be the first to know." The raven haired teen stepped closer to the railing to see Lucius Malfoy and his son Draco on the level just below them. Both Slytherins far more well dressed than anyone needed to be at a Quidditch game. All in black of course.
The last time Harry and the Malfoy Lord were in the same place the Gryffindor accused him of attempted murder. Not one of his cleverest moments looking back. Now they were discussing the weather. It was sort of absurd.
Even sociopaths had to make small talk from time to time Harry supposed.
The littler Malfoy caught his eye and grinned. "Father and I are in the Minister's box, by personal invitation of Cornelius Fudge himself!" Draco said, excited. It wasn't the first time the blonde had bragged to him. Excitement however was usually reserved for earning Gryffindors detention with Snape. Seeing the other teen excited at something, well normal, was a little surreal.
Hoping to insert some goodwill, his life would really be much easier without Draco throwing things in his cauldron to blow it up, Harry smiled back. He was prevented from responding when to his alarm Lucius lifted his cane and struck his son in the stomach. Hard.
"Don't boast Draco." Drawled Lucius.
Harry wasn't sure what made him do it. He and Draco didn't have the best of relationships. Midnight duels. Aerial competition. Attempts to have feathered friends beheaded. He had no reason to want to interfere. In fact he could continue up the stairs, catch up with the Weasleys and ignore it. No one would blame him.
Something, though, something in him stirred in protest at the fading grin slipping from Draco's face. At the shoulder's stiffening, the silver eyes firmly on his feet rather than up at his father. There was something so reminiscent of himself and Uncle Vernon that his blood boiled of its own accord. Something so obscene about the normally proud boy shutting down, utterly subservient before his father.
It was wrong.
Harry called out, daring to cut off whatever it was Lucius was about to say. Something venomous from the looks of it. "I dare say it's your lucky day Draco. You'll get to enjoy the pleasure of my marvelous company as I'll be sitting there as well." Harry flashed a cheeky grin.
Draco returned his smile tentatively. Harry winced. He would be suspicious as well if the situation were reversed and Draco tried to rescue him from Uncle Vernon's wrath. He nearly choked at the thought. Now that would be something worth seeing.
The blonde considered him for a moment, taking a small step away from his father as he did so. "That scar of yours finally do something useful then?" He taunted. Draco shifted slightly when his father turned around to watched them.
An aborted flinch.
Harry was exceedingly aware in that moment that he had his wand stuck in his shoe, hidden under his jeans. Aware with a startling, fierce certainty that he would do something if Lucius tried to hit his son again.
"Hardly. I'm here by personal invitation of the Weasleysthemselves." Harry said, affecting Draco's posh accent.
Lucius seemed as if he had enough, reaching out a hand to take Draco by the shoulder. The smaller blonde hunched just a bit, bracing himself if subtly. It was enough for Harry to know the touch would be rough rather than gentle. Hero complex activated. Harry put his hands on the railing, pulled himself up and leaped over. The next level wasn't far. He landed on his feet easily enough. Straightening Harry tried his best to appear nonchalant. Both blondes were staring at him openly.
Or as open as Syltherins ever were at any rate.
Harry glanced over Draco's expensive black tunic and matching slacks. Brand new shiny shoes. He looked up and raised an eyebrow. "Don't tell me you'recamping? In that. Aren't you afraid of scuffing those pretty shoes? Do Malfoy's even know how to camp?"
Draco bristled. "What exactly is that supposed to mean? I'll have you know we have the latest tent model-"
"I believe you."
"-no doubt far better than your charity case's excuse for a tent I can guarantee you that. I have gone with my family on many occasions that required 'camping'. I can even put up the tent myself and start a fire." Harry half expected the blonde to stuck his tongue out out on him. He did not of course.
Harry raised his hands. "I'm not trying to offend you," He reassured, nodding toward the stairs and stepping that way. Draco fell in beside him without sparing a glance to his father. Harry approved.
"I think you and I have very different concepts of camping. Mind, the Weasleys are just as lost. Did you know muggles use tents about eight feet in diameter with no indoor plumbing? In fact they have to put their food in these boxes with ice to make it last and sometimes animals eat it. Then they have to hunt their own food. They eve take these poles with strings and go fishing in creeks or lakes. They'll put the fish on a stick and cook it over the fire and eat it."
"Liar." Draco accused.
Harry felt his smile widening. "It's true. Sometimes they do it with less than that. It's recreational for them. Let me repeat that, they go out in the woods with pretty much nothing for fun."
"Are you telling me that you went cam-"
"Oh no." Harry corrected. "I wouldn't go camping with my relatives if somebody paid me." He really wouldn't. That would be the perfect opportunity for Uncle Vernon to have a hunting 'accident' and hide his body. No thank you.
Draco paused. "Well, we can at least agree on our assessment of it then. It sounds dreadful-" The conversation continued as they made their way up the stairs. Cheers and Cheers and laughter filtering in with loud bursts every so often. Lights flashing already though the game hadn't started yet. Harry spared a glance over his shoulder to meet the sharp eyes of Lucius Malfoy. They stared one another down.
Upon reaching the Minister's box Harry made a decision. He took a seat with Draco, walking by the Weasleys. He positioned himself between father and son. Draco continued speaking, rattling on with over-expressive hand movements about this or that player. His face of course was more reserved in its expression. Slytherins.
The blonde seemed oblivious to the seating arrangement beyond the fact Harry had chosen to sit with him over Ron. His father however took notice. Harry fancied he could feel the man's eyes digging into the side of his head.
Three men stood near the balcony, one of them the Minister . Harry knew him, having seen the man in his second year and actually met him in his third. Another man with a beard stood nearby. Draco informed him it was the Bulgarian Minister. The third a retired Quidditch player. The blonde gleefully informed him that the Bulgarian Minister did in fact speak English and was teasing their own.
Were they gossiping? How odd. Draco was acting far more like a regular teenager, you know the sort with souls, than Harry had thought possible for him. Who knew the boy could talk for more then five minutes without insulting somebody?
Or at least without insulting Harry.
It was the blonde's unconscious move to ease his discomfort, rubbing his stomach, that reminded Harry how he came to be sat there. Determined Harry threw himself into the conversation, prolonging the inevitable. The truth was there wasn't much else Harry could think of to do. Unless he managed to be in the same room as the two Malfoys from now on there wasn't much he could do. Harry could not be there to observe their interactions, to step in if the need arose.
After a while Ron shot him an incredulous look from the front row. Harry shrugged. He would think of something to tell the red head later. Some explanation. Now he just needed to explain it to himself. He could, of course, still get up and move to sit with Ron and Hermione for the game. Draco wouldn't be surprised if he did. Everyone would let it go. It'd be over. Instead he found himself trading banter with a Slytherin as the teams' various mascots made a show and the game began. He didn't know why he cared. Why he bothered.
All Harry really did know was that he didn't want to see Draco look that way again.
Ever.
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