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On 1 August Lucius Malfoy and his son stood outside their glamoured flying carpet and looked 4 Privet Drive over with critical eyes. The two-story home in the suburbs was practically a hovel to them; the scathing opinion was tempered only slightly by the sound of quiet conversation and stilted laughter floating out on the air through the cracked-open window.

"They'll be expecting us, Draco," Lucius finally said. "Perhaps you could fetch young Mr. Potter?"

Draco nodded and started up the path, then turned back and asked, "Why don't you come with me?"

Lucius' mouth twisted up in a bitter smile. "The wards, it appears, don't like me."

His son smiled ruefully and finished the walk up the path. Lucius stood and watched as a beefy man with a bristling moustache who called for Potter over his shoulder opened the door.

The tousled black hair of the Boy-Who-Was-Hyphenated appeared in the doorway. Under Lucius' watchful eye, his son and the much-vaunted savior of the Wizarding world exchanged greetings, and Potter smiled and shook Draco's hand.

Potter turned and either shook hands or hugged his relatives, and walked out the door carrying a large trunk in one hand and a decorative bird cage in the other. Lucius watched incredulously as Potter stopped just inside the edge of the wards, dropped his trunk, and muttered "finite" with a rapid flash of his wand.

"Potter- er, Harry," Draco said calmly, "You live in a muggle house. Do you want your wand snapped?"

"Mnn." Harry Potter made a disinterested noise at Draco. "Help me with my trunk, will you? It's incredibly heavy."

As the two schoolboys struggled towards what was, to all appearances, a top-model Jaguar sedan, Lucius "opened" the "boot" and smiled politely at his guest.
"Mr. Potter. A pleasure."

"Isn't it, though, Mr. Malfoy?" The boy smiled cheekily up at him. "And don't worry about any ministry owls. Madam Hopkirk was thoughtful enough to make the wards incredibly magic-insensitive. I got pretty far into my charms and transfigurations texts these past couple weeks."

"Ah, indeed," was about all he could really say in response. The three stepped through the illusionary doors of the sedan and on to the woven silk Axminster 1700.

"Lovely carpet," Potter commented. "I didn't figure you for muggle cars, really. Is it grandfathered under the new laws or the old laws regarding enchanted artifacts?"

Lucius looked at him with a little smile. The boy he remembered from Dumbledore's office, tiny and undernourished and brash, had grown tall and fit and very diplomatic. The scion to the Potter family looked polite and interested. He may as well indulge him.
"Well, Mr. Potter"-

"Please, I'd rather you called me Harry."

"Harry then. Most of the older pureblood families have enchanted carpets, as it can be a hassle to transport families with small children. Floo is impractical with toddlers and infants, side-on apparation works only if you know where you're going, exactly."

As Lucius lectured, the carpet began a steady low flight down Privet Drive. When they reached the alley offshoot of Magnolia Crescent, Lucius turned into the dark space and tapped the carpet. A slight chilly temperature coated the passengers' skin as the Disillusionment Charm kicked into effect. Without much warning, the carpet shot up vertically and then leapt forward in the air.

"For several centuries, back to the muggle Crusade era even, flying carpets were an accepted part of Wizarding society. It was as integral a part of life as, say, racing brooms. However, the predecessor to Minister Fudge, Bagnold, added quite a large list of banned muggle items and put carpets on them. And as your friend's father is so diligent at his job, there are a lot of us who put next-to-unbreakable glamours on the carpets in different varieties of high-end muggle cars."

Harry laughed delightedly. "So your carpet, which falls under the old laws, is double registered as an enchanted luxury sedan under the new laws?"

Draco nodded. "It's a rather brilliant system. Should the carpets come back in style, well, we've already registered ours. And our 'car' is licensed under Ministry papers as well."

"You see," Lucius pointed out, "Misuse of Muggle Artifacts is dying to go after certain pureblood families on this issue, as it's an open secret we're still using carpets for travel. However, if only a few families were fined and had their carpets confiscated, there would be a massive uproar." Lucius' upper lip curled in derision. "It's not just the nasty dark wizards who break the laws and use flying carpets."

Draco coughed hastily and shook Harry's shoulder. "Look, Pot-er, Harry! The manor's just there, past the treeline."

The manor fell into view as they passed over the trees. Lights were gleaming in a few of the upper-story rooms and in most of the base floor. The carpet came to a slow descent and the illusion of a car flickered to life around the occupants as imagined wheels touched the cobbled driveway.

One of the many house elves arrived as soon as Lucius stepped into the evening air. "Ah, Chippy. Take the trunk and bird cage to the guest suite across from Draco's room." The elf nodded and disappeared with a snap of his fingers.

He arched an eyebrow at Harry and said mockingly, "Do try not to free any more house elves while you're here, Mr. Potter."

Harry looked right back and, in superb imitation of the urbane Malfoy drawl, "I do hope none of them are insane enough to put me in hospital to try and 'save' me from rampaging basilisks."

Draco snickered.

"I can promise you there aren't any basilisks in the manor, Harry, rampaging or not," Lucius replied as he led the way into the hall, "however, these are Malfoy house elves. It's only logical that they're slightly mad."

"Lucius!" his wife scolded good-naturedly as she walked out of the dining room to greet them. "You'll give young Mr. Potter a bad impression of our house and home if you continue on like that." She turned with a polite smile toward their houseguest. "It's a delight to have you stay with us, Mr. Potter. I'm Narcissa Malfoy, Draco's mother."

Harry bowed slightly over her outstretched hand. "Please, do, call me Harry, Missus Malfoy. I'm grateful for the opportunity to get to know your family better."

Lucius marveled inwardly at the boy's manners and poise. He exchanged glances with Narcissa, whose eyes reflected the same amazement and pleasure.

"Well, Harry," Lucius said, "We picked you up after you had supper. We've eaten as well. Would you care for drinks in the library? We have an excellent collection of scotches and whiskeys, if you like."

Harry smiled. "That suits perfectly, Mr. Malfoy. I'd like to talk to you sooner rather than later."

Narcissa held a hand out in a beckoning gesture to Draco. "Come with me, Draco. We'll make our camping food selections now. The house elves are hopeless if it's not gourmet."

Draco nodded and smiled briefly at Harry. "I'll see you upstairs, Harry. Don't get too caught up in talking to sleep. Remember, we're leaving tomorrow!"

Lucius watched Harry smile and wave them off. The boy's posture straightened and tensed as Narcissa and Draco left the hall, and the corners of his mouth tightened slightly.

Harry looked up at Lucius and smiled with little humor. "I'm going to need that scotch you were offering, sir. This will take a while."


**

Harry sipped at his scotch and leaned back in one of the firm leather chairs in the corner of the manor library. He watched over the rim of his glass as Mr. Malfoy poured himself two fingers of scotch from the same bottle and sat in the chair opposite. As they sat in silence sipping the strong drink, Harry wondered if Mr. Malfoy was trying to think of something to say. Harry himself was afraid to bring it up-saying it made it all too true to him.

"Your letter was intriguing," Mr. Malfoy commented. "I am entirely amenable to working with you to pass pro-werewolf legislature, but life is quid pro quo. You mentioned hearing a prophecy that would interest me. Do tell."

Harry snorted. "Trelawney made a real one, the old bat. The servant returning to the Dark Lord, the Dark Lord rising 'greater and more powerful than ever before.' The servant part, well, I know who it is and I know he went straight to V-er-Riddle. Two nights ago, I had a vision. Riddle has some sort of weak body. He's staying at his family home with the servant and a snake, Nagini."

Mr. Malfoy was quiet for a few moments, gazing into his scotch. He took a sip and locked eyes with Harry. "And you think it wise to tell a former follower of the Dark Lord that He will return?"

Harry leaned forward, bracing his forearms against his knees. "I know what I have to do. They want my blood for a resurrection ritual. I'm looking up ones that are more forgiving on the participants. Dumbledore said that was Trelawney's second real prophecy. With all this fixation your former Lord has on me, I'd have to hazard a guess that the first one was about me defeating him. Am I close?"

"We were told the first half," Mr. Malfoy said after refilling his tumbler. "The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches, born to those who thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies...." His mouth twisted bitterly. "What is it that you're here for, Potter? I'm not a good man. I dislike muggleborns for their ignorance of Wizarding customs and politics. I loathe muggles and the shoddy job they're doing taking care of the world. If I thought rejoining the Dark Lord would be beneficial to me when he is resurrected, I would do it."

Harry took another sip of his scotch and leveled a knowing stare at Mr. Malfoy. "I heard the circumstances under which you got off the charges. I also did some research on it. Do you really think the excuse of the Imperius curse would work twice? For that matter, I'm not fifteen months old anymore. I'm halfway through school, and my friends and contacts aren't just a couple of kids in Gryffindor Tower."

"Good points." Mr. Malfoy nodded sharply. "Go on."

"You want to know why I'm here? I'm here because Riddle's coming back, and all of you who avoided Azkaban the first time around have had thirteen years to establish yourself with jobs in the Ministry, school-aged sons and daughters...running off to rejoin your old Master endangers your wives, Gringotts vaults, children." Harry swirled the scotch in his glass slowly and eyed the man in the seat across from him. "Right now most of you are respected, but not trusted. You stay neutral when he comes back, you gain the trust of Wizarding Britain."

Mr. Malfoy leaned back in his chair and visibly relaxed. "Check and mate, Harry Potter. You have me convinced. I'll start talking to my...former associates, as it were."

Harry grinned and finished his drink. "Fantastic. And you'll contact the appropriate people about making the werewolf registry private?"

"A compromise," Mr. Malfoy told him. "There are some that are feral, and actively hunt humans during the full moon. I'll draft legislature that differentiates between werewolves in society and feral werewolves, and we'll only have the killers left on the public registry."

"That's acceptable," Harry said.

"I will also, should you like, arrange a marriage for you," Mr. Malfoy offered. "You are from an old pureblood family. Your father's marriage was the exception rather than the rule."

Harry nodded thoughtfully. "It would help me gain more support amongst the more traditional purebloods, I suppose."

"Do you have any girl you'd prefer a contract with?" Mr. Malfoy asked. "This is more political than anything, as you know. You needn't even like the girl."

"Ginny Weasley, I think," Harry said decisively.

Mr. Malfoy's lip curled. "The Weasleys"-

"Have seven children, most of whom I think will become very influential in Wizarding Britain," Harry interrupted. "Particularly if Bill Weasley can be tempted back home from Egypt. And it would stop rumors of me going 'dark' if I was betrothed to a girl from such a 'light' family."

"Very well." Mr. Malfoy looked a bit put off, but he acquiesced. "I'll start drawing up a contract with her in mind.
"Thank you." Harry startled himself with a yawn. "/Hnn/! I guess I'd better be off to bed. We're leaving in the morning, right?"

"That's correct," Mr. Malfoy said with a small smile. "There's a house elf outside the library doors waiting to show you to your rooms. We'll see you at breakfast."

Harry followed the small, pinstriped-pillowcase clothed house elf up two flights of stairs and into a room with light cream walls and burgundy accents. The elf bowed out with a cheery "good night!" and he slipped out of his trousers and shirt. He had his pajama bottoms on and was tugging a tee shirt over his head when he heard a familiar voice from a doorway he was sure he'd closed.

"So tell me. When did you get so sodding tall, anyway?"

Harry poked his head through the neck-hole of his sleep shirt and glared good-naturedly at Draco. "Get used to it, shrimpy. Madam Pomfrey says that now that I've finally started growing properly I won't stop until I'm six-three." He paused to shove his arms through the sleeves and demanded, "And don't you knock, Draco? I'm flattered, really, but please."

To his surprise, Draco blushed, but came inside boldly enough. "Ugh, Potter, you smell like scotch. Clean your mouth out before something starts growing in there."

Harry grinned at him and tapped his wand against his teeth. "Dens Abluo! Now stop bitching and tell me about the World Cup. I've never been to a professional game."

His new friend took that as invitation to flop down on his bed and stretch out. "Don't worry about it. It's just a faster, more dangerous version of what we play at Hogwarts, with lots of famous people on broomsticks who get paid to try not to get killed before the game's up." Draco looked up at him. "I expect you could play for England, if you wanted to. Even if you do end up towering over all the other seekers in the league."

Harry snorted. "Quidditch is, well, it's fun. I'm bloody good at it, but even if the Magpies recruited me straight out of school I wouldn't want to play professionally." He ignored the noise of disbelief coming from the blond lump on his bed and flopped down next to him. "I actually have a fairly good plan for my future."

"Oh, do share," Draco said loftily, but Harry saw the gleam of interest in his eyes.

"I'm going into business with Ted and Millie. We're forming a partnership that specializes in Research and Development. We want to see how combining charms, Arithmancy, and ancient runes can create new spells and magical devices. My cousin Dudley bought me a bunch of retired mobile phones for my birthday yesterday-I want to make a Wizarding version. It's entirely possible."

Draco sat up and looked down at Harry. Harry just looked back up at the blond boy looming over him.
"That," Draco said, "is brilliant. If you think Potions would be an interesting addition to your merry little band..." He trailed off and grinned. "It's not just favoritism that has me at the top of Professor Snape's class."

Harry propped himself up awkwardly on one elbow and stuck his hand out to shake Draco's. "Well then. Welcome to our merry little band."

Draco shook his hand firmly and then said in a scandalized voice, "What are you /doing/, keeping me up the night before the World Cup? Merlin, Harry, have you no manners?"

Harry laughed and threw a pillow at his classmate, who ducked and walked out the door, cackling. "Get out of my room, you tosser! Go get your beauty sleep-you need it!"

"Good /night/, Potter!" came the laughing reply from the room across the hall.

Harry chuckled turned off the lamp next to the bed, crawling under the covers and smushing his face into the pillow. "Night, Malfoy. See you tomorrow."

**

Harry Potter was awoken by a pillow across his back. He rolled over and jerked upright. "Whaa?"

"Get UP, Potter! Breakfast is downstairs! Life is good! The Cup is today! Must I beat you with your pillow again?"

"No, no, I'm-m-m," Harry yawned and fumbled his glasses onto his face with one hand, "I'm up, I swear."

Draco shoved some clothes into his arms and said bossily, "Dining room's off to the side of the entrance hall. Get dressed or I'll send your breakfast to Goyle's house through the floo."

Harry gave him a disgruntled look and swung his legs out of the bed. "And how much coffee have you had today, Draco? My /God/, you're insane."

"You're one to talk," Draco said, averting his eyes as Harry yanked his tee shirt off. "Laying about in bed the day of the /World bloody Cup/."

Harry pulled on his new blue and gray striped rugby shirt and retorted, "Is there a reason this madness isn't seen at Hogwarts? You're like a hyperactive two year old. You seem quite sane in public."

Draco passed him his trainers as he zipped up his denims. "I act mad enough in the Slytherin common room. It's a reputation thing. Blaise is quiet outside Slytherin House; inside he's the most spectacular wit. Vince and Greg run our House betting pools. I have far more energy than I know what to do with. I let it out in private when I'm at school, and when I'm with my friends."

Harry smiled at him. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, then." He and Draco left the bedroom and headed downstairs.

They were greeted in the dining room by an affable nod from Mr. Malfoy, who was busy reading the political section of the Daily Prophet, and a gentle smile from Mrs. Malfoy, who passed the two of them the plate of buttered toast and dish of scrambled eggs.

"Harry, would you like any of the pastries? We have a house elf who loves French cooking, and there's always croissants at the breakfast table," Mrs. Malfoy suggested.

Harry accepted the suggestion eagerly and found himself repeating his usual breakfast ritual at a very elegantly spread table-alternating bites of flaky, buttery pastry with sips of strong, hot coffee.

Mr. Malfoy set down the newspaper and smiled in amusement at the sight of the one-time bane of his existence gulping down gourmet coffee at his table. "Slow down, Harry," he advised. "It won't run out. There's a never-out charm on the cups."

Harry grinned at his host and said simply, "My cousin and I jogged to a café every morning this summer. I'm a complete coffee addict, I'm afraid. Still, our school mediwitch says there's nothing I can do to avoid being tall, so drinking lots of coffee won't stunt my growth."

Draco laughed, and Harry added, "Besides, I have to catch up with the Mad Hatter here. He comes by his energy naturally. I have to drink mine."

"Prat," Draco joked.

"So are you going to provide some good competition in Quidditch this year? I figure all the seekers, at least, are well-matched."

Mr. Malfoy coughed. "I'd been meaning to tell Draco. I suppose I'll tell you both now, before school starts. There won't be any Quidditch this year."

"What?"

"No!"

Harry and Draco stared at him in dismay. Mr. Malfoy stared right back, but couldn't stop the teasing smile from spreading across his face. "Hogwarts is hosting the Triwizard Tournament this year, boys. I found out about it when Fudge asked me for advice about how to tell the muggle prime minister that we were bringing three dragons to a boarding school."

"/Dragons/," Harry murmured. He looked sideways at Draco and said, "I wonder if they understand Parseltongue."

Draco hastily swallowed his forkful of scrambled eggs and shot back, "We could always find out. Of course, you're not going to be very loved by the rest of the school if you start that up again."

"Correct me if I'm wrong, Draco," Harry said offhandedly, "but I'm fairly sure you conjured that snake second year, not me."

Mrs. Malfoy interrupted. "You can speak to snakes? How utterly fascinating. Have you ever had any interesting conversations?"

"Err," he said, blushing. "Before Hogwarts, I talked to a python at the London zoo. Thing'd been raised in captivity. He said he wanted to go to Brazil, so...I vanished the glass. He thanked me very politely."

Mrs. Malfoy laughed. "I hope he didn't get caught!"

"I've no idea, actually," he said. "Still, that was probably the high point of my summer." The Malfoys chuckled appreciatively.

"This will be an excellent chance to make friends from other schools, Draco, Harry," Mr. Malfoy informed them. "Beauxbatons will send its delegation from France, and Durmstrang will have a wide representation-Russia, Germany, Bulgaria...don't let the competitive nature of the tournament persuade you to be hostile to your guests. Only the schools' finest will be sent to Hogwarts. Make friends."

"Yes, Father," Draco said obediently. He winked at Harry.

"It's not bad advice," Harry said in reply. "I expect the champions will be good people to get to know."

Mr. Malfoy nodded crisply at Harry and stood. "Are we finished? We portkey to the campsite in fifteen minutes."

The dishes vanished from the table as they all walked to the entrance hall. Two house elves were there, shrinking two tents and Harry's trunk. Harry slipped his trunk into the pocket of his denims and watched as the Malfoys pocketed miniature tents, brooms, and lawn furniture.

"Your broom and owl perch are in your trunk, Harry," Mrs. Malfoy said to him. "A simple finite will bring them back to size. The best spell for shrinking charms on inanimate objects is the Decrescus charm, as it doesn't destabilize the solid object even after repeated shrinkings. The incantation is /decresco/. Bring your wand down in a straight line above the object and tap it firmly. It works wonderfully."

"Thanks for the tip," Harry said gratefully. "Anything regarding liquids? Like shrinking potions into solid form for convenience?"

She shook her head. "No one's bothered to write one. I expect it would have a different Latin base-probably compacting instead of decreasing. The wand movement would have to be different, too."

Harry grinned at Draco. "You see why we're starting up a Research and Development firm? New spells, Draco! Experiments!"

Draco looked at his mother and said, "Harry's cousin gave him thrown-out muggle mobile phones to play with for his birthday. He wants to make Wizarding phones."

"Oh, I almost forgot it was your birthday a few days ago!" Mrs. Malfoy strode off to the kitchens.

"We're leaving in /one minute/, Narcissa," Mr. Malfoy called after her impatiently.

Mrs. Malfoy came back and handed Harry a small box, a mischievous smile on her pale face. "Since it can't stunt your growth, apparently, you should enjoy Malfoy Manor's coffee whenever you like."

Harry pulled a gorgeous red cappuccino mug out of the box. The glaze was a rustic, mottled burgundy and cream, with thin stripes of the red painted on the inside.

"We bought so many beautiful ceramics in Gubbio when we visited Italy last summer," Mrs. Malfoy said wistfully. "The recipe for that red glaze has been a town secret since the thirteen-hundreds. Brace yourself, Harry, we're apparating to the Portkey site."

Mrs. and Mr. Malfoy both wrapped an arm around the shoulders of one of the boys and apparated to the crypts under Westminster Abbey. She immediately picked up the story again.

"The mug has several enchantments on it, just like the rest of the set. It's unbreakable for one thing, thank Merlin. If you tap the mug with your wand and say 'refill,' it'll fill up with plain coffee. You can specify 'refill latte,' 'refill cappuccino,' or anything you might get at a high-end café." She beamed at him. "I do hope you enjoy using it."

"Enjoy it!" Harry exclaimed. "It's fantastic! Thank you...I think I might get through school mornings now."

"Hello, Harry! Hello, Malfoys!" came a jolly voice out of the shadows of the crypt. "Dodgy place for a portkey. What the Cup officials were thinking, I've no idea."

The smiling face of Minister Fudge appeared, shadowed by an elegant older gentleman with a house elf at his side.

"I expect, Cornelius, they were thinking along the lines of 'Westminster Abbey isn't open to tourists at this hour,'" the dour gentleman replied. He turned to Harry. "Bartemius Crouch. How do you do?"

Harry shook his hand politely. "Harry Potter, sir. I'm well, and yourself?"

The man gave him a thin smile. "I'll be better when this is over. Large crowds of people who don't give a damn-apologies, Narcissa-about the Statute of Secrecy...it just doesn't do it for me."

Fudge smiled reassuringly. "We do have a team of Obliviators spread throughout the camp, just in case someone does something...umm..."

"Glaringly idiotic?" quipped Mr. Malfoy.

"Yes, I suppose," Fudge chuckled.

"Better hope your Obliviators aren't too heavy-handed," Harry observed. "Our Defense teacher from two years ago Obliviated himself and he's still in Saint Mungo's."

They laughed, and Fudge jumped as his pocket watch made a buzzing sound in his vest pocket. "Thirty seconds, everyone! Portkey's over here! Everyone touching? Excellent! Five, four, three, two-!"

With the most bizarre sensation of having a hook behind his navel, they were all thrown forward, stumbling, into a sunny patch of grass, as a pleasant female voice chimed "Ten past the eighth hour from Westminster Abbey, welcome to the Quidditch World Cup."