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A Drift In Time: Chapter 5
🕑 Added 2024-10-05 16:30:01 +0000 UTCThe atmosphere outside was already raucous when they walked out of their modest tent where Arthur stood waiting for them, checking his worn wristwatch for the third time.
"About time you lot came out," the man remarked, though his eyes twinkled with good humor. "I was beginning to think we'd miss the match entirely."
Harry merely pointed toward Ron with his thumb, a knowing smirk playing at the corner of his mouth as the boy earned an exasperated look from his father. Ron's hair was still slightly messy, evidence of his rushed morning routine.
"Oi, it's not entirely my fault," Ron protested weakly. "The twins were hogging the mirror."
"We were making ourselves presentable for the ladies," George proclaimed with an exaggerated wink.
"Though some of us don't need the extra effort, do we, Harry?" Fred nudged Harry with his elbow, causing Ginny to roll her eyes dramatically. Harry gave her a subtle smirk.
"We're here now. Let's get moving," he intoned casually, yet his voice carried an air of quiet authority that only Ginny noticed.
“Yeah. Follow closely.”
As instructed, they all fell in step behind the man who walked alongside Percy, the ministerial stooge glancing behind at them with a disapproving stare every few moments. Harry let out a soft, almost resigned sigh and waved his hand discreetly, casting a delayed itching hex on the stuck-up ponce. He’d held back until now, but it seemed the bloke was in no mood to let up on his arrogant demeanor. His green eyes gleamed with hidden amusement as he imagined the upcoming discomfort of the self-important Weasley.
He found himself between the twins and Ron as they trailed behind Arthur and the girls, and he helped himself to the nice view of their swaying behinds in those tight jeans. As if feeling his eyes on her, Ginny glanced over her shoulder and her lips curled in a smirk. However, Hermione walked straight ahead, utterly unresponsive and as straight as a rod. She seemed to be pointedly avoiding looking at anything or anyone, barely talking even when Ginny broached a subject, and Harry stifled a smirk.
"I bet you five Sickles Percy tries to lecture someone about cauldron bottoms before we reach the stadium," Fred whispered to Harry.
"Not taking that bet," he replied, a hint of knowing amusement in his voice. "Some things are simply inevitable."
Ginny slowed slightly until she was walking beside him, close enough that their arms occasionally brushed.
"What secrets are you three trading back here?" she asked, her tone playful but curious.
"Secrets?" Harry echoed softly, raising an eyebrow. "Now what makes you think we'd keep secrets?"
“Yeah, Gin. And even if we do, you really think we’d tell you?” George scoffed.
“You’ll go and blab to Mum about it. You can’t fool us with those puppy dog eyes,” Fred added.
Their remarks earned them twin punches to their arms, which they absorbed without flinching, their noses upturned.
All the while, Harry kept his eyes on Hermione who walked rigidly. He could practically feel the tension radiating off her in waves.
They moved through the crowd as they walked through the woods to where the massive stadium had been erected. As they walked, Arthur began to regale them with some facts regarding the stadium and how hundreds of Ministry task force members had been working on it all year round. Every measure had been taken to ensure the muggles stayed far away from the entire area.
"Like when Mum suddenly remembers she needs to clean the attic whenever Aunt Muriel visits?" Ginny whispered to Harry, referring to the Muggle-repelling charms.
Harry's response was a low chuckle, derisive and sarcastic in equal measure. "Now, Ginny," he whispered back, perfectly mimicking Percy's pompous tone while somehow making it sound both mocking and effortlessly cool, "that's hardly a proper comparison for Ministry-grade Muggle-repelling charms."
Ginny had to clap a hand over her mouth to stifle her giggle, especially when Percy turned around to give them a suspicious look. The twins and Ron had no qualms as such though, and they openly laughed.
Harry met Percy's gaze evenly, his expression perfectly neutral save for the slight quirk of his eyebrow.
They reached the nearest entrance shortly amid the thousands of people who were already crowded near the entrance, shouting and squealing in excitement. The Quidditch fever was high.
“Lucky us,” Arthur grinned as he waved the tickets around, and together, they approached the witch standing by a closed door and accompanied by a pair of familiar redheads.
“Let me guess. Ron took too long to wake up and get ready,” Charlie remarked teasingly.
“Piss off.”
The man chuckled at his youngest brother’s retort as Bill took the tickets from his father and handed them over to the woman.
“Ah yes. Top Box. Straight upstairs, Arthur. Keep climbing as high as you can.”
It was a separate segment, and the difference in class was apparent at first sight. Contrary to the rather stale décor near the common entrance, this passage was richly decorated with purple and gold carpet on the floor, and the railings on the staircase glowed as they touched it. Numerous Quidditch stars from past to present were depicted on the tapestries that hung high above, and Harry spotted a team of all women soaring high in the air.
“The Harpies,” Ginny gushed. “Oh, what I won’t give to be recruited by them one day.”
“Well, you do have the talent. I’m sure you have a chance if you keep working hard, Gin,” Harry smiled.
The redhead beamed at him as they climbed up the stairs, earning a wink from him. He glanced over at Hermione once again, and she seemed to be keeping a poker face, or at least doing her best at it. However, cracks were easily discernible and Harry would be lying if he said he was not having fun watching her like this.
The climb took them over ten minutes and by the end of it, more than one person was flexing one’s legs, jerking them to stave off the ache.
“These lot are mental,” Ron announced as he reached the top, flexing his legs harshly. “Completely barmy. Couldn’t get something to help us reach up here easily?”
“You’re talking like an old man, Ron,” Bill teased, making him grumble.
The Top Box was a familiar sight, and so was the little sight that greeted Harry as he walked in. A house elf, certainly not Dobby, sat in the second from last seat at the end of the row near the one where they were supposed to sit. Harry’s lips curled at the sight and he glanced over at the vacant purple chair by the wall, knowing perfectly well who it was that sat there.
He thought about it for a second before deciding to let his interaction with Winky play out as it had before. The female elf once again went on the rant about house elves and their conduct and their duties and their whatever… Harry mostly tuned her out, having no interest in listening to the same drivel once again. He did glance at the empty seat when Winky addressed it, but nothing more.
He had already decided what his approach was going to be, and he pulled his gaze away from the pair, choosing to take in the sight of the massive stands surrounding the grassy expanse in the middle. The box was right in the middle at the highest point, giving them a panoramic view of the entire pitch, and from their vantage point, they saw the sheer number of people who had already found their way to their seats.
The stands were already divided into two segments – one green and one scarlet, and as he stood at the front, he was joined by Ginny on one side and Ron on the other. The latter was trying out the Omnioculars excitedly, pointing out various aspects of the quirky crowd they had down there, much to the amusement of his siblings. Harry exchanged a mirthful glance with Ginny before he gestured toward Hermione who sat primly on one of their seats, skimming through the program.
“Anything interesting in there, Hermione?”
Harry’s voice made her jerk in surprise and the pamphlet almost fell out of her hands. She reached out and grabbed it quickly, her eyes wide as she stared at him. Harry merely raised an amused eyebrow.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he chuckled, Ginny mimicking him from her spot to his left. “You okay? You look a bit red.”
“Just a bit tired,” she said in a slightly high-pitched voice.
“She definitely saw a ghost,” Bill commented, chuckling.
Snorting, Harry walked over and took a seat to her right, nonchalantly draping his hand over the back of her seat. Drumming his fingers on her shoulder and feeling how she froze up slightly at the touch, he gazed at her with a mix of emotions shining in his eyes, amusement ranking on top.
“You still get spooked by ghosts? Seeing Nick’s neck custard not enough yet?”
“Aw, that’s disgusting,” Ginny made a face.
“Or the Baron’s red shots,” Fred supplied, grinning.
“Or Moaning Myrtle’s moaning,” he wagged his brows suggestively, sending everyone into peals of laughter.
Harry merely watched Hermione whose eyes widened slightly once again, and although he felt he was teasing her too much here, it was also a fact that he was having too much fun with this. One glance at Ginny told him she was in the same boat, and he gave a mental shrug.
It seemed it was in Hermione’s fortune to keep getting teased over this.
XXXXX
Over the next hour, the box gradually filled around them. Arthur kept shaking hands with witches and wizards who were most definitely highly placed in society while the rest of them observed the interactions.
When Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic, made his entrance, it was with all the subtlety of a peacock in mating season. His lime green bowler hat preceded him, bobbing through the crowd of dignitaries as if to announce his presence before he physically arrived. Accompanying him was the dreaded abomination in pink and Harry expertly controlled his emotions lest he give in to the temptation of doing something foul to the resident toad.
It was amusing to see Percy greet Cornelius Fudge. The man had already started squirming under the effect of the itching curse Harry had put on him, often jumping as though he’d been sitting on pinpricks as he greeted the people alongside his father. However, when Fudge arrived, he gave a bow so low that his glasses fell to the floor and shattered.
There were a few chuckles around the box as a highly embarrassed Percy quickly fixed his glasses and slunk away, taking his seat.
When Fudge’s eyes fell upon Harry, his face transformed into a mask of delighted surprise, though Harry’s experienced gaze easily noted the calculated gleam behind the friendly façade.
‘A consummate politician, this one,’ he thought to himself, noting the similar gleam in the toad’s eyes as well. ‘And you… Oh the things I want to do to you, toady…’
"Harry, my dear boy!" Fudge exclaimed, his voice carrying just loud enough to ensure everyone in the Top Box could hear him greeting The Boy Who Lived. "What an absolute pleasure to see you here! Simply wonderful, simply wonderful indeed!"
Composed and at ease, Harry rose from his seat with deliberate grace, his movements unhurried and controlled. He'd learned that such composure often unsettled adults who expected awkwardness from youngsters. As Fudge approached with his hand already outstretched, Harry noticed the slight sheen of sweat on the Minister's brow despite the cooling charms in the box.
"Minister Fudge," Harry replied, his tone pleasant and measured. He accepted the handshake, keenly noting how he clasped his hand between both of his own as if embracing a long-lost son before the cameras that went flashing away. The Minister's hands were soft and slightly damp, and Harry had to resist the urge to wipe his own hand on his robes afterward.
"Keeping well, I trust? Looking splendid, absolutely splendid," Fudge continued, not bothering to wait for Harry's response. His eyes darted around the box, clearly gauging who was watching their interaction. "Your summer holidays going smoothly? Excellent, excellent."
Harry allowed a small, composed smile to play across his features. "Very well, thank you, Minister. The World Cup is quite the event – you must be proud to be hosting it."
Fudge practically glowed at the comment, missing entirely the glint of amusement in Harry's green eyes. "Oh, yes, quite, quite! And speaking of which, let me introduce you to some of our international guests. Can't keep you all to myself, now can I?" He chuckled at his own joke, and the sound was as hollow as his political promises.
With a theatrical flourish, Fudge began guiding Harry around the box, one hand remaining firmly on Harry's shoulder in a gesture of familiarity that made Harry's skin crawl beneath his perfectly tailored robes. Yet he showed nothing but polite interest as Fudge paraded him before various foreign dignitaries. He glanced at his friends who either rolled their eyes at him or grinned, and he didn’t miss the jealous expression on Ron’s face or the dark look Percy cast toward him. Hermione… she seemed to be lost her in private world, although Ginny quickly joined her. Harry merely turned away in amusement.
"This is Mr. Antoine Delacour, the UEQA President," Fudge introduced, and Harry’s eyes immediately fell on the tall wizard with a sharp goatee and even sharper eyes. Harry inclined his head respectfully, noting how the man's gaze flicked assessingly between him and Fudge.
“An honor,” he said smoothly. “My friends and I were just talking about how well the European League has been set up for the upcoming years. I’m sure the new regulations would make the games even more exciting for the fans, especially the change in snitch movements.”
“That isn’t public knowledge yet, Monsieur Potter,” the man remarked with a slight accent.
Harry chuckled good-naturedly. “It’s easy to infer which direction the rules are going in, Monsieur Delacour. As an enthusiast of the game that you surely must be, I believe you know what I’m talking about.”
The comment earned him an amused but approving nod from Delacour and a slightly baffled look from Fudge, who clearly hadn't expected Harry to know such details. He knew the boy played Quidditch but he’d taken it to be a passing fancy.
They moved on soon once Fudge regained his bearings, and as they did, Harry caught fragments of muttered conversations: "Harry Potter, yes, the very same," and "Quite the well-mannered young man, isn't he?"
He also did not miss the subtle whisperings from a few who held disdain for him and he kept his expression neutral, though inwardly he was cataloging every reaction, every whispered comment.
Finally, they reached a wizard in magnificent robes of black velvet trimmed with gold, who was looking rather unimpressed with Fudge's toady’s attempts at communication.
"And this is Mr. Oblansk — Obalonsk — well, he's the Bulgarian Minister for Magic," Fudge finally stammered, his usual bluster deflating slightly in the face of the language barrier.
Harry hid a smirk as he smoothly stepped forward. "A pleasure to meet you, sir," he said with a slight bow, the gesture perfectly attuned to show respect without subservience. "I hope you're enjoying your visit to Britain." The Bulgarian Minister might not have understood the words, but he clearly appreciated the diplomatic courtesy, responding with a nod and a stream of rapid Bulgarian.
Fudge looked relieved at Harry's intervention, though a flicker of something – perhaps unease at Harry's poise – crossed his face. "Well done, my boy, well done," he said, patting Harry's shoulder a touch too heartily. "Knew you'd be a natural at all this!"
As the Bulgarian Minister stared askance at Fudge, the man cleared his throat.
“Harry Potter, you know,” he said, sighing when the man didn’t seem to understand. “Harry Potter! Oh come on… you must know who he is… the boy who You-Know-Who failed to kill… You-Know-Who, remember?”
Finally, the man seemed to understand and excitedly reached out to vigorously shake Harry’s hand. Fudge stared on in bemusement as the man continued gabbling loudly in Bulgarian, attracting the attention of a few people nearby.
Harry spotted the distasteful look on Umbridge’s face as she stared at the man and he wondered whether, in addition to being a pathetic racist and pureblood supremacist, she was xenophobic as well. It certainly wouldn’t be out of the realms of possibility when it came to the woman.
Finally, Harry managed to pull away from the man who took his seat and Fudge led him away once again.
“Language barrier… it’s a massive headache sometimes. That’s why I keep Barty Crouch for that sort of thing. Ah… I see his elf’s keeping his seat for him. Good foresight by Barty there… these Bulgarian and Irish blighters have been trying to wheedle all the best seats… ah, and here’s Lucius!”
Harry’s gaze shifted swiftly to the trio walking along the wall to the three vacant seats right in front of the ones their group had claimed for themselves. It was in the second to front row, a bit lower but still with a good view of the pitch.
“Ah, Cornelius,” Lucius greeted, extending a hand forward, although his eyes remained trained on Harry. His gaze shifted soon as the Minister shook his hand. “I don’t think you’ve met my wife, Narcissa? Or our son, Draco?
Harry trained his eyes on the people accompanying him.
Draco looked older, as he did previously, but that haggard look on him was missing. Here, he was every bit his father’s son, with a longer hair tied in a ponytail that frankly made him look poncier, if it was even possible. Harry quickly disregarded him, ignoring the weak sneer on his face, and trained his sight on someone far more appealing, even when clad in a modest yet expensive witches’ robe.
Narcissa Malfoy was the only blonde sister out of three, and she was quite tall, for a woman’s standards. As Harry gazed at her, he came to an easy conclusion that Ginny would one day grow into the same figure. The woman was as haughty as the rest of her family as she gazed around at everyone as if someone was holding a pile of hippogriff shit under her nose.
Harry had not known her in the previous time, but he could easily guess what kind of person she must be. None of it put a dampener on the sheer sexuality the woman oozed without even trying. The resting bitch face, the haughty demeanor, and a body to kill for – all were traits that highly appealed to him. She was a challenge – one he yearned to conquer.
The fact that she was the wife of Lucius and the mother of Draco was further motivation.
It took him mere seconds to make the entire observation and reach this conclusion, and when he came out of his thoughts, Fudge was in the middle of making introductions.
“─you know Arthur Weasley, I presume?”
It was a tense moment as the two wizards who had once brawled like common muggles outside Flourish and Blotts stared each other down, and Malfoy’s lips curled in a sneer. He raked his eyes up and down the row that the rest of the Weasleys and Hermione were seated in, all gazing back scornfully.
“Merlin, Arthur,” Lucius said softly. “What did you have to sell to fetch so many seats for the Top Box? Surely your house didn’t fetch you that much? Or,” his eyes gleamed cruelly, “have you started a new rental service?”
Now, had he just made that remark, Harry would’ve overlooked it, but when he saw the motherfucker’s eyes drift toward Ginny as he said it, well, all bets came off.
He cast a quick wandless compulsion charm on all her brothers and Arthur who all would’ve jumped Malfoy and forced them to remain in their places. They had no chance of coming out of top here, and he knew it.
Fudge, who had been listening to something his toady was saying, turned around and beamed.
“Lucius here has just given a very generous contribution to Saint Mungo’s, Arthur. He is here as my guest.”
“Very nice,” Arthur managed, seething silently. Harry caught his eyes and pursed his lips, silently telling him to calm down, and the man took a deep breath.
With a disgusted look cast toward Hermione who stared back defiantly, Lucius turned around and began to make his way over to the empty seats with his family.
“Well, it should be starting soon. Have your seat, Harry,” Fudge clapped him on his back, and Harry smiled tightly, walking over with Arthur to join the seething Weasley clan.
“That fucking slimeball,” Ron growled, and it was a marvel that the boy managed to keep his voice down given how enraged he was. Harry sat beside him and Ginny quickly joined him on the other side. He gazed at her with a raised eyebrow, smirking when she shook her head dismissively.
Arthur could not rebuke his son for cursing even if he wanted to. He had much more vicious insults for Malfoy but he had somehow held it all in. Exhaling deeply, he turned to his daughter and reached out, squeezing her hand gently.
“Just ignore him. Bitter people like him live lives without any meaning.”
Arthur merely smiled thinly at her. She also nodded reassuringly at her brothers who all grabbed their seats and stared ahead stoically.
Harry leaned back comfortably in his seat and they watched Ludo Bagman who pressed his wand against his neck, beginning the proceedings. Eyeing Ginny discreetly, he leaned over and whispered in her ear, “I think Lucius dear should meet a grim fate soon. A broken neck, maybe?”
The redhead glanced at him in amusement as she leaned closer. “And who’d do that? You?”
Smirking, Harry whispered, “He insulted my dear follower. It’s the least I can do.”
His mark had taken hold of her, both magically and spiritually, and it meant everything that was normal for him was normal for her now. He knew she would no longer balk at the thought of murder, torture, or any crime that he considered normal, as their thinking aligned entirely now. As such, he could be candid with her about whatever he wanted, and she would listen and respond like a loyal, yet logical follower.
“I’m so lucky to have such a wonderful master,” she whispered back as the Irish mascots – a group of leprechauns rained down fake gold all over the stadium, sending the crowd rummaging around to grab as much as they could. It was chaos and quite a few people got hurt, and any rational person would’ve wondered just what the logic was behind this careless act. Alas, logic never prevailed in the Wizarding World.
Harry leaned back in his chair once again as he watched the proceedings. Ginny had not given her assent explicitly, but he was inclined to take it as something she wanted him to do. He sneered at the back of that blonde head that sat in the row in front of theirs.
The night was already going to end in chaos, with Malfoy at the heart of it. Perhaps it would not be too bad if he became one of the casualties of the Death Eater attack at the Quidditch World Cup. Additionally, with the knowledge he had at his disposal, he could very well destroy his reputation posthumously. It was indeed a very compelling idea.
Harry was brought out of his thoughts once again when several men around him shot to their feet, mesmerized, and all he could do was let out a derisive snort.
The veela were indeed hot, their skin glowing ethereally as they floated about on the field. It felt as if they were gliding in the air as they danced, and a few men even tried to throw themselves over the edge of their railings, only for someone to either barge into them instead or a woman to pull them back, glaring at the beautiful women dancing in the green.
Harry chanced a glance over at Umbridge and he was not surprised to see the look of sheer distaste on her face. His lips curled, and he cast a silent spell on her to make sure her face remained frozen like that. The bitch deserved much worse, but he had plans for her.
At the front seats, Harry spied Narcissa from his angle, holding both Lucius and Draco firmly by their arms, and he stifled a snort. Both dumbasses had their mouths open in hunger and their eyes half-lidded. The woman’s lips were set in a thin line as she eyed her husband who sat, unresponsive, his eyes fixated on the erotic dance taking place in front of him. Just one look at her and he knew how much she was affected by this. Being an alluring beauty herself, she was a prideful woman, and to see her husband in such a state, drooling over those she must deem beneath herself was bound to hurt. Harry merely tutted quietly and shifted his gaze.
The Weasley males apart from Arthur had shot to their feet and were slowly walking forward when an ethereal melody filled the air and everyone came to a sudden halt. Their eyes wide in adoration, they stood rooted to the spot and gazed reverently at the veela who intensified both their dancing and their provocative moves, insulting the Irish while looking unbelievably sexy doing so. The leprechauns, irate at the insults, retaliated in kind, and it soon turned into a competition over who could both grab the crowd’s attention and insult the other. It was a battle between gold and beauty, and the crowd was expectedly divided.
Finally, both teams’ mascots were asked to leave the pitch, to loud protest from them and the crowd.
“Quite a spectacle,” Harry remarked, gazing at Ron mirthfully.
“Shut up, mate.”
“And now,” Bagman’s loud voice boomed, “ladies and gentlemen, kindly welcome ─ the Bulgarian National Team!”
One by one, the players zoomed out, shooting through the air with so much pace that they were blurred. As expected, Krum got a massive ovation and loud boos from the Bulgarians and the Irish respectively.
As the match progressed, it was quite apparent that things were one-sided. The Bulgarian team was in shambles and they were scrambling as the Irish chasers ran riot, scoring one after another. In a mere hour, the scoreline read 120-10 in favor of the team in green, and their supporters were chanting in jubilation while the Bulgarians watched on in silence.
“Come on, just a few more. Then Krum can catch the snitch,” Harry heard Fred whisper to George and he sighed. Those two were going to get a very harsh reality check soon.
“Krum’s feinting, isn’t he?” He heard Ginny whisper to him as Krum and Lynch dove down at a ferocious pace, the former’s hand outstretched.
“Yeah, and Lynch’s gonna taste some grass real soon.”
Loud gasps echoed in the aftermath of the crash as Aiden Lynch, the Irish seeker, hit the ground with a dull thud, Krum flying out with not even a scratch on him.
“That was wicked!” Ron exclaimed excitedly, grinning.
Harry smiled; however, he did not miss how Narcissa glanced over her shoulder distastefully at the redhead whose entire focus was on the mediwizards who hurried onto the field. He caught her eye and raised an unimpressed brow, prompting the woman to sneer.
‘A bit too stuck up, aren’t you?’ Harry thought, drumming his fingers on the arm of his seat idly as he held her gaze. The woman stared him down, but if she expected he’d cower under her gaze like many had before, she was sorely mistaken.
Harry’s lips quirked into an amused smirk and he affixed the most disdainful grin he could muster on his face. He eyed her like one would a common whore, dragging his gaze from her eyes to her red, pouty lips, down her heart-shaped face to her slender neck, and over her clothed chest. He traced the journey back up her body, his smirk widening as she gazed at him with slightly widened eyes. Keeping eyes locked with her, he pushed his finger through his pocket and fished out a galleon, tossing it about in the air casually. He made sure she saw it, and it was impossible to miss the moment the implication of his little gesture dawned on her.
Harry reveled in the transformation as her face twisted in rage; the realization that he was calling her a one-galleon whore dawning on her. It seemed she would get up, undoubtedly intent on confronting him, when Bagman’s loud shout made her whirl around.
“IRELAND WINS!”
The man’s voice was filled with disbelief, his eyes wide as he registered the sudden end of the match. Harry was surprised as well. It seemed he had missed all the moments that had come after Lynch had crashed – the penalties and fouls, the mockery between the veela and the leprechauns, and Lynch’s second crash. All that remained of the match was the celebrating Irish contingent, the dejected Bulgarian dugout, and a bleeding Krum hovering gently as he held the snitch, his eyes trained on the massive scoreboard that was flashing BULGARIA: 160, IRELAND: 170.
The twins celebrated like madmen while Ron and Ginny stood alongside Bill and Charlie, looking on excitedly. Meanwhile, Harry leaned back with a smirk as he eyed the blonde woman once again who, as if feeling his eyes on her, glanced over and fumed silently. He tossed the galleon once again in the air for good measure before pocketing it, shooting her a dismissive glance.
That woman was going down. He would make sure of it. But before that, it was her husband’s turn. Harry eyed Lucius who had already stood up and was asking his family to get a move on, undoubtedly eager to get some rest before going through with his little plan.
The arrogant bastard was about to cause mayhem tonight in front of foreigners with his Death Eater buddies. Harry, however, was all too happy to make sure he got a harsh taste of his own medicine.
To be continued…
Comments
yan boul
In addition with the French schools and Dumstrang you can put foreign girls we often see flower but almost nothing of the other girls are school and the other one his krum it would have plate to insert 1 or 2 girls of your own.
yan boul
yes in addition he has to work to have the girls so his suspense and not only hoie a go go.
Erinnyes
You did an amazing job with the character interactions here. Tons of subtlety and characters actually behaving sensibly.
