Author: Bell Pie toggledog@yahoo.com

Rating: PG13 for some smooches

Pairings: Harry/Draco, Ron/Hermione.

Author’s Notes: Please Review! J
 
 

Harry, Ron and Hermione chatted and laughed together, as only old friends do, Draco walking solemnly behind, as all four made their way to the nearest entrance to the World Quidditch Cup. This consisted of a portkey in the centre of a disused public toilet. The ‘out of order’ sign further disencouraged any muggles from venturing into the area. Their talk mainly consisted of reliving old Hogwarts memories, both good and bad, Harry occasionally glancing back to check on Draco. The subject turned to relationships, which soon began Hermione talking with great vigor to Ron about their wedding. Harry took the opportunity to walk back to Draco. Ron glanced back at them from time to time, as their conversation ended. The two men caught up pace with Ron and Hermione. To Ron’s astonishment, Draco was doing a fair impression of an embarrassing incident for Harry during the final Quidditch match in their seventh year.

"Thank you, thank you. Arrgh!" Draco mimicked the scene where Harry endeavored to steer away from an oncoming Hufflepuff but instead collided into them. The skewer in Ron’s stomach twisted harder. Feeling heat on his face, he realized he was going red.

Sure, Harry was really happy to win, but it wasn’t like that.

Ron was about to open his mouth to give out a tirade on Harry’s behalf, when Draco suddenly jolted to one side.

"Ah!" Harry poked him in the side and he jerked once more. "Ah! Stop!"

Harry ceased a few seconds, then launched himself on the ex-Slytherin, poking him with obvious relish as many times as possible on both sides. Draco screeched and laughed as he attempted to move away. Ron realized it was the first time he had ever heard him laugh from anything that wasn’t at the expense of other people.

"Surrender?" Harry poked him once more. Draco tried to jump out of the way but tripped on a small stone protruding from the rough gravel ground. He scraped his hands on the earth in his attempt to break his fall, hissing loudly in pain.

"Look what you made me do!" he sulked at Harry. The raven-haired man smiled.

"Let’s look at it."

Malfoy stood up and dusted off his robes and coat, before offering Harry his palm. Harry pressed his fingers to the cut and muttered "Injustice." The blood instantly disappeared, the wound healed. Harry kissed the palm, before returning it to Draco.

"I just wanted you to kiss it better." Malfoy said coyly. Harry took his hand again and kissed each of his fingers in turn.

"Better?"

Ron felt as though he would physically throw up.

Harry and Malfoy began discussing the World Cup, both convinced that their team would be victors. Draco was, of course, rooting for the opposite team to Harry, the Brazilian Cougars.

"You know those Greens don’t have a chance, Harry. They’ll be annihilated in the first thirty seconds. Personally, I think it will be the shortest world cup ever."

"You forget the Greens have Bruce Bowden. He practically invented Quidditch."

"And looks it. Come on, Harry. He looks like he’s five hundred years old. What’s he gonna do? Whack the snitch with his walking stick?"

"He’ll surprise you. You’ll see."

Draco shook his head, then crinkled his nose as they stepped into the delipitated public toilet.

"So, where is it?" Ron asked, kicking around the condom wrappers, tampons and pads littering the ground.

"What happened here? A tornado?" Harry’s green eyes widened as he took in the trash carnage.

"You should be feeling right at home here." Draco turned to Ron, smirked and opened his mouth to say more, before Harry silenced him with a warning glance.

Ron gasped and stumbled forward as the door flew open, knocking him hard on the back. He fell directly into Hermione’s arms. She promptly righted him, with a reassuring pat on the arm.

A plump faced man carrying a bawling baby rushed in, followed by a straight-backed, horsefaced thin woman. The arriving wizards glared at the contingent. Ron was reminded of Harry’s Aunt and Uncle, who had ‘graciously’ allowed (were forced to) hand Harry over to his Godfather, Sirius Black, in his final year at Hogwarts. Two years later, at the age of nineteen, Harry left Sirius to live with his ex arch-nemesis turned soul mate, (or so Harry informed a totally baffled Ron). Ron doubted the Dursley’s would have been as understanding as Sirius and Remus Lupin had been, in regards to Harry’s choice of partner.

And I thought those two were meant to have brains.

Hermione located the toilet lid that was the portkey under a pile of scrunched up toilet paper. Everyone was a little hesitant to touch the object. Harry sighed and grasped the edge. All but Draco tentatively followed suite. Malfoy was looking at the off white lid as though it was about to shoot out Cruciatus Curses at all who stood within a foot of it.

"Draco."

Draco looked at the lid, horror crossing his aesthetic features. He shook his head. Harry suddenly reached back and grasped his hand, forcing it to touch the lid. Ron felt the usual tug about the navel, pulling him forward, reality tilting slightly out of focus to the left, the sharp whistling in his ears, before the barren yellow walls and littered floor of the toilet gradually changed to the green pastures and muli-coloured and sized tents that made up the Quidditch spectator’s lodgings.

AN

Next Chapter will be a lot longer. :)