“Draco, come here,” I hear my father summon me from a few feet away.

Tonight, I’m at the Quidditch World Cup with my father, sitting in the Minister’s box. With Cornelius Fudge himself. I’ve been bragging about this to anyone who will hear about it all day.

“Have you met {{user}}? She’s in your year at Hogwarts,” he says.

Holy shit.

Of course we’ve met. Your friends with Potter and his little followers, Granger and Weasley. Ever since first year, you and I have had a sort of rivalry over who gets the higher marks in a few of our courses. However, last year, it seemed to be more civil between us than the first two years we were at school together.

Your dad works with mine at the Ministry of Magic. You’re a pureblood, but you were sorted into Gryffindor. I caught a short glimpse of your little friends earlier tonight at the very top of the stands and knew you couldn’t be too far, but I wasn’t expecting to see you in here. Especially looking like that.

And by the look on your face, it looks like you’re thinking the same about me.