Chapter Text
I woke up to the sound of an owl knocking at the window. Reaching over to my bedside table, I grabbed my glasses and checked the time—3:45 a.m. I glanced over at Ron’s bed to make sure he was still sleeping before creeping toward the window. As I opened it, I lightly stroked the owl’s feathers while removing yet another letter from Draco. I couldn’t stop the blush that crept up my cheeks.
To avoid suspicion over an owl arriving daily with a letter for me and another for Draco at the Manor, we had decided to exchange letters at night, usually around 10 p.m. But this was later than usual. I knew I should go back to sleep since we were heading to the Quidditch World Cup later, but this was Draco. It would only take a second.
Walking back to my bed, I cast one more glance at Ron before opening the letter.
Dear Harry,
Accept my apologies for this late letter. My father invited some Ministry officials to the Manor and insisted I stay for dinner (as if it isn’t my own house—so offended, really). I went to bed rather late, hence the timing of this letter.
I just woke up, so excuse my handwriting; it might be a bit messy. My mother mentioned before I went to bed that there will be a Portkey for me to take on my own to the World Cup. If you’re able to find some time, perhaps we could meet in the forest? I know it’s risky, but just a quick hello—right?
Always in my thou ghts,
D.L.M.
I smiled at the letter and sat up to write my reply. Removing the cap from my ink bottle, I dipped my quill in and began writing.
Dear Draco,
Your handwriting is perfectly fine. I’ll see what I can do about the forest meeting.
Until we meet again,
H.J.P.
I reread the letter several times before attaching it to the owl and watching it take off. Then, I lay back down, drifting into a peaceful sleep with a smile on my face.
I had what I would call a rather violent wake-up call—one that may or may not have involved an angry Hermione and a pillow (or two). Ron had suffered the same fate, so it wasn’t all that bad. After breakfast, we headed out to our Portkey, meeting up with the Diggorys along the way.
“Ah! Amos Diggory, how wonderful to see you. On your way to the Portkey?” Mr. Weasley greeted, extending his hand.
“Hello, Arthur! A wonderful day for a hike, don’t you think?” Mr. Diggory replied, shaking his hand firmly.
“I was just telling the kids the same thing,” Mr. Weasley said, gesturing to us. “Harry Potter, is it really?”
At the mention of my name, my head snapped up. I shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. “Er... hello, sir,” I said, giving a small wave.
“My son told me he beat you last year in a Quidditch match. Not so invincible, eh?” Mr. Diggory clapped Cedric on the back proudly.
“I keep telling him it wasn’t a fair match, but he won’t listen,” Cedric said, grimacing slightly.
“Well, let’s get moving, don’t you think?” Ginny interjected, clapping her hands and breaking the awkward silence. Everyone snapped back to reality and started following her.
After another twenty-minute walk filled with unbearable silence, we reached the Portkey—a battered old boot. Thanks to Draco, I actually knew how to use one.
“Everyone, hold on tight. In three... two... one!”
We all grabbed the boot, and suddenly, I was yanked forward by my navel, spinning wildly through the air.
“When I say ‘go,’ let go of the boot, okay?” Mr. Weasley’s voice rang over the rushing wind.
I didn’t trust myself to open my mouth without screaming, so I just nodded and hoped he saw it.
“Go!”
I released my grip and landed with a rather violent thud.
“You okay, mate?” someone asked.
“Could be better,” I mumbled, opening my eyes—only to shut them again. “So bloody bright,” I heard Ron groan.
“Here you go,” Ginny’s voice came from above me. I opened my eyes again to see her offering me a hand.
“Thanks,” I said, grabbing it.
“Welcome,” she replied, pulling me up.
Everyone was dusting themselves off and picking up their scattered belongings. “Can we start moving?” I asked, feeling a little impatient. I had a meeting with a certain blond. Wait— meeting? Date? When did that happen?
“Harry’s right,” Cedric said with a wink. “Let’s get to our tents and find a good spot to watch the game.”
We set up our tents, and after some time, Hermione asked Ron and me to fetch water. As we walked, I caught sight of platinum blond hair disappearing into the forest.
“Hey, guys, I think I just saw Fred and George. I’ll go say hi. Talk to you later, yeah?” I said, walking off before they could reply.
I found Draco leaning casually against a tree, as if standing there was the easiest thing in the world.
“Hey, Draco,” I greeted, suddenly nervous.
He turned, smiling at me like I was the most important thing in his world—like he needed this meeting just to see me.
“Hey, Harry.”
I felt the heat rise to my cheeks and looked down.
Suddenly, I saw his shoes in front of me. “Eyes up here, Princess,” he teased, lifting my chin with two fingers. My eyes snapped to his, that stupid smirk still in place.
“P-pr-princess?” I stammered, my blush deepening.
Ignoring my question, he ran a hand through my hair, the other brushing my cheek. I focused on his outfit instead: white soft pants, black and white trainers, a light blue button-up with sleeves rolled up, and his sweater draped over his shoulders. Of course, his hair was perfectly gelled.
My eyes involuntarily drifted to his forearms. This shouldn’t be happening. Taking a deep breath, I asked, “What are you doing?”
He was staring at my lips. Not today. I quickly looked at a tree behind him.
“Nothing. Just saying hi to someone I haven’t seen in a while,” he said, stepping back. “Your hair’s gotten longer—still unruly, but it suits you.”
My hand instinctively went to my hair. “Thanks.”
“Well? Are you not going to tell me about your holiday? School starts in a week, and I’m not waiting that long.” He transfigured two bean bags from fallen sticks.
I sat down, telling him about my stay at the Weasleys, my unfortunate potato-cutting incident, and my rather aggressive wake-up call.
Checking my watch, I saw it was 5:30 p.m. “We should go.”
As I turned to leave, he called out, “Deepest apologies again for the late letter.”
I couldn’t help but smile. “It’s really not a big deal. I love reading your letters—it shows you still care.”
“Of course I care about you, you idiot Gryffindor,” he muttered, his voice quiet but sincere.
I fell asleep that night still smiling.