THE OFFICIAL QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP - OG Harry/Draco

[_draco_m_]

Even during the War, he had never seen so many people on his property before.

A bit of anxiety wore at him, knowing the time was upon him. The moment had come, fans roaring in the stands for the World Cup to ensue and knew that only he and Potter stood between them and their game, America vs. Wales.

He would have every eye of the stadium upon

Comments

[_harry_p_]

Harry tugged once again at the fastenings on his uniform, irritation and an edge of uneasiness starting to settle in. It was a familiar feeling whenever Draco Malfoy was involved, but one worth tolerating if it meant there would be some relief to the victims and their families- even if the relief was minimal and purely financial. They deserved at least that considering the amount of pain they had experienced so recently

[_draco_m_]

A gasp.

Followed by a thousand more.

...why, as I live and breathe...

Whispers erupted through the stadium,

Why, its the real one, isn't it!
Of course its the real one, you dolt.
He should really be working on the case.
Come off it- this IS working on it!That roar of applause overtook the arena; even those that had scarce believed were deafened by the crescendo

[_harry_p_]

Harry stood in place at first, his gaze finally releasing from the other man in order to watch as the odd-looking bird darted away from its cage and after a few quick, agile turns, ultimately slipped out of sight.

A Golden Snidget...They'd read about them at Hogwarts, and a few of the boys had even exchanged stories they'd heard about matches all those centuries ago when it had still been legal to use them in live games. He'd known most of the stories were probably complete rubbish, especially since it had been so long since they'd been banned that certainly none of their fathers or even grandfathers had been witness to the events

[_draco_m_]

Clouds rolled and settled in, the overcast light of day casting the arena with a height of grey.

An anticipatory pitch came to the cries of the audience as the space between the two flying figures rapidly closed.

A quick strong gust blew his frosty locks sharply to the side, but Draco's eye contact stayed long and strong; darkness belaying them, stone cold and set in memory.

Every memory of defeat. From the first unaccepted hand shake, to the War, and those between; they all flashed wildly through his pupils.
Every morning spent on this very Pitch, this very Pitch!, imagining this very moment, practicing every morning with ritual, as if he knew this day would come.

And he wondered if the opponent across from him could feel the heat of fire beneath his minute white lashes.

"Potter," with coolness.

Now with the cage out to his side he held it with pause, before all 5 gloved fingers opened and off went the knot of black wires, tumbling to the ground.

He was gone in a flash.