She woke very early on the morning of the match, despite only having finally drifted off to sleep at about three that morning
She woke very early on the morning of the match, despite only having finally drifted off to sleep at about three that morning. Her whole body seemed to quiver with excitement as she lay awake.
"It's not for ages yet, go back to sleep." He murmured sleepily in her ear, pulling her closer to him as he did so.
"It's so exciting though." She whispered back, twisting to lie on her front and turning her face to look at him.
"It won't be exciting if you are too tired to watch." He said dryly, closing his eyes and running his hand across the soft skin of her back.
"You forget that it's you who make me tired." She gave him a coy smile, gathering a sheet about her and setting her feet on the dark wood floor. "The match starts at three so we've only got six hours to get ready, less if you count travelling and the time to get in before the match starts."
"Six hours is plenty of time." He told her sternly, pulling her back down as she tried to get up. "It doesn't take you that long to get dressed."
"But I'm awake!" she protested, trying to wriggle free.
"There are better things." He smirked, spooning himself up behind her.
"Well, maybe." She relented, a contented sigh escaping her lips.
"Only maybe?" he asked, strategically moving his hands.
"No," she purred, "This is definitely better."
Once it got to midday she decided that it was really time to get out of bed. Disentangling herself from his arms, she slipped out from beneath the sheets and, seconds later, he heard the jet of a shower against tiles. He groaned; pulling the bedcovers up over his head like a child would. He didn't want to go; he wanted to stay here with her all day. He didn't want to go somewhere where he had to pretend that they were nothing more than friends; he didn't want to go through the agony of not being able to have her close. He pushed these thoughts aside as he got up and also headed for a shower; he did not want to risk both their lives by allowing thoughts such as that to linger.
They ate a light breakfast on the terrace before she disappeared to get ready. She chose a light, cream silk chiffon dress with split sleeves that showed off her tanned arms. The material clung perfectly to her curves and was made all the more daring with the deep V-neckline that plunged down into her cleavage but did little more than hint as to what was there.
"Am I going to have to find the appropriate jewellery or do you have the perfect finishing touch?" she called out from the bedroom as he waited for her on the balcony.
"What do you think?" he called back.
"I think you're going to surprise me." She said; stepping through the balcony doors. He was momentarily astounded; she looked stunning in her dress with sleeves that floated as she walked, matching cream heels and a clutch bag.
"I take it you approve." She said, judging his opinion by his transfixed gaze.
"Very much so. A little daring perhaps." His eyes flicked to the point where the neckline of her dress ended.
"No, just summery." She corrected with a smirk. "All it needs is a finishing touch."
Almost immediately he produced a cream velveteen box and opened it up to reveal a necklace that was quite different to others he had given her in the past. It was quite modern, made of a single string of white diamonds of no mean size, which entwined at the front and had two, very large, very brilliant, pale yellow pear shaped diamonds hanging at the end. The colour of the stones practically matched the colour of her dress, if slightly more yellow in colour.
"Not bad." She said, giving him an approving smile. "Not bad at all." She repeated as he laid the heavy string of jewels around her neck.
"You didn't think I wouldn't have been able to find you something, did you?" he asked in mock astonishment as she fastened the bracelet and slipped the earrings into her ears.
"Never in all the world." She kissed him before he could move away.
"Shall we go?" he asked, offering her his arm. She nodded, accepting his offer and allowing him to lead them to their waiting car. It looked almost exactly the same as the car and driver that had transported them after the Minister's Christmas reception, and she was not in the least surprised that he ravelled with his personal car. In a similar fashion to last time their car sped them off to the location of the stadium somewhere inland. They were in the Northern Territory of Australia, on the tip of the very northern coast, near Darwin and they glided past pristine beaches where they could see Muggle surfers cruising along the tops of waves.
They then turned inland, following a small route through the dense rainforest that she was sure that only they could see. Sure enough, after about quarter of an hour's ride, she began to see patches of colour through the greenery. There was blue, and yellow, and red and, as they got even closer; the hundreds of Swedish and Australian flags strung through the trees came into view. She could see the posters that indicated the various societies that had made the journey here and she could also see the influx of wizards and witches who were finding their campsites after arriving by Portkey. They glided past all of this, shielded by tinted windows and air conditioning, until one of the Ministry Wizards stopped their car.
"You can't just waltz through here mate." She heard him shouting as he approached. "It's off limits." The wizard, who was fairly young, waved his wand and the window next to which Lucius was sitting slid down.
"But I believe I can go right on through." He said in his arrogant tone, surveying the wizard up and down with his appraising look. Casting his mind back to something the Minister had told him earlier that morning; the young wizard, whose name was Mike, thought hard. 'And there's someone else arriving from England. A nice chap, Malfoy's his name; very rich and powerful so just let him go on through.' The Minister had told him something of his looks, 'long blond hair, and carries a cane', so he had a quick glance at the man who had addressed him from the car. He took one look at the blond hair, cold grey eyes, serpent topped cane and the svelte young woman with cascades of rich black hair who was sat next to him, and knew that this was the man.
"Sorry about that, Mr Malfoy, sir." He apologised quickly, trying not to let his gaze wander to the beautiful woman sitting beside him. "Just go straight on in, I believe the Minister's already there." Malfoy merely nodded and, with a wave of his wand, the window raised upwards once more and the car glided on.
"Lucky sod." Mike muttered as the car coasted off and he turned to walk back towards the cacophony of noise coming from the crowds of excited spectators. "At his age with a girl like that, I should be so lucky."
Inside the car, both of its occupants smiled having heard this comment.
"Very lucky indeed." He whispered in her ear as he slid his arm back around her waist. "And I'm not that old." She laughed and kissed his cheek. He was eager for more but, as luck would have it, at that moment the car came smoothly to a stop at the edge of a giant stadium. He stepped out first and then, being a gentleman and unable to ignore the proprieties ingrained in him since childhood, took her hand in his and helped her out. She stood in awe for a moment; gazing up at the huge wooden construction that was draped in red, blue and silver. It seemed to glow with a strange iridescent light; covered with so many enchantments that the magic could no longer effectively conceal itself.
"Not bad." She whispered as she looked up. "A bit bigger than what I'm used to."
"It seats over a hundred thousand, or so I've been told." He told her as they walked to the entrance at the foot of the stands where a smiling witch was waiting for them.
"G'day!" she greeted them, smiling brightly and taking their tickets. "Ah yes, top box. Best seats you can get. Just through that entrance on the left and on the stairs all the way to the top." She pointed them in after returning their tickets. Stepping through the archway they found another wizard who, again, inspected their tickets before lifting aside a red rope and allowing them to pass through. Standing before them was something similar to what there had been in Dubai, except that this revolving staircase went straight up to the very top of the stadium. They rose through the stands surprisingly fast and emerged in a small chamber just off the top box which, as it had done in Dubai, looked more like the top floor. They both straightened themselves out and brushed imaginary dust from their clothes before he smiled, placed his hand lightly on the small of her back, and they strode out into the sunlight.
The top box was again full of people, all of them looking excited and all of them absorbed in some conversation or other. She walked through the crowd slightly behind him, watching as he nodded to various people he knew, before he homed in on someone they both knew well.
"Ah, Lucius!" the voice of Cornelius fudge, the Minister for Magic, drifted over to them, followed by the man himself. "So good to see you again."
"It's a well deserved break Minister, after Narcissa's death you know." He told Fudge in a sombre tone.
"My goodness yes." Fudge looked truly moved by this statement but his eyes quickly lit up with interest as he spotted the figure standing behind Mr Malfoy. "And who might be this charming young lady you are hiding from us." He tilted his head to look behind Mr Malfoy, as he shook his hand.
"No one you don't now already, Fudge." Mr Malfoy smiled, reaching back to Kathryn and pulling her gently forwards once more.
"Why Miss Potter!" Fudge looked beside himself with glee. "Wonderful to see you too." He bowed and lightly kissed her hand, not noticing that Mr Malfoy's hand was still firmly on the small of her back.
"Good to see you too, Minister." She smiled back, carefully making sure that there was a reasonable distance between herself and Mr Malfoy so as not to seem too conspicuous.
"I am, to confess, rather surprised that you didn't bring your son, Lucius. I'm sure this would have been a good surprise as he is such a Quidditch fan." Fudge continued on with a questioning look to Mr Malfoy.
"Ordinarily yes," he began as Kathryn's heart started to race; they hadn't even considered an excuse for her being there, "but I believe this to be an adequate apology to Miss Potter."
"An apology?" Fudge was now confused, as was Kathryn; he wasn't actually going to explain what had happened, was he? "Whatever are you apologising for?" Fudge asked.
"If you'll remember, Fudge, at the end of last year my son was involved in a, well, an incident at Hogwarts." He explained. "An incident that endangered the life of Miss Potter."
"Ah, yes I do remember." Fudge had been apoplectic when he had heard what happened.
"Well, this is, I believe, a fitting apology for the actions of my son."
"Quite right." Fudge agreed in a stern tone. "And how have you been keeping, Miss Potter, after the events in France?" his tone was now one of concern.
"Oh not too badly." She told him truthfully. "The sale of the house was completed earlier this week so I am considerably better off, but that doesn't replace them. To be truthful, I didn't see or hear from them very often after I moved back to England; but they were still there and I just have to get used to them not being there anymore."
"That's good, and I expect that your friends have been a great help to you."
"Yes." And the man standing beside me, she thought.
"Now, I'm sure that you'll remember one of the teams playing today from last time, won't you?" sure enough, the Australian Minister for Magic had appeared next to Fudge and was introducing himself again. Moments later, the Minister from Sweden had arrived and the photographers had begun to gather. She began to shy away from the four important men when four pairs of hands beckoned her back to stand with them. She obliged them and stood at the edge of the group until the photographers moved her to the middle in order to balance the shot. They called for more and, as quickly as they could manage, took photos of her with each Minister in turn, then with Fudge and Malfoy.
The photographer wasn't one to know of their relationship, he wasn't one to pry into the affairs of visiting foreign dignitaries. He had overheard the pair of them speaking with Cornelius Fudge and, from what he had been able to discern, apart from her obvious identity as one of the famous Potter twins; was that the man, by the name of Lucius Malfoy, was obviously very important back in England and was the father of one of her school mates. A school mate who had done something untoward that had almost resulted in her death and that her coming here was a way of apologising for that. He also noted that the man talked about the death of someone the reporter assumed to be his wife, meaning that the man was now single. The photographer wasn't really bothered about this, as she was clearly young enough to be his daughter and there were no signs of anything untoward, just friends enjoying each others company.
It was just that he found them oddly captivating and curious. They seemed, however accidentally, to offset each other with their clothing. He was dressed entirely in black, which contrasted with his long blond hair. She, on the other hand, was dressed in head to toe cream that, in turn, contrasted with her long black locks. It made for an interesting image, and that was on his mind when he asked them to stand together for a photograph. They turned and stood for him as if they had done this before, his arm moving to the default position around her back whilst she turned on what appeared to be her most alluring, yet mysterious smile.
It was odd, the photographer thought as he thanked them and walked away, they looked almost as if they were meant to be together; they just had that well suited look despite the apparent age difference. He shook these thought from his mind, however, as he turned to concentrate on taking enough photos to make a decent income from the event. He knew he had the big money shot already; he was sure the English papers would pay a fortune for a picture of two of their most recognisable faces in the same picture, and then again with some of the world's most powerful men.
"That picture will haunt me if it's printed. And I have no doubt that it will be." Kathryn sighed immediately after the photographer had gone. "I won't hear the end of it from Harry, Hermione and Ron." He was about to reply when a great gong sounded and everybody stopped what they were doing.
"I believe that's our cue." He took her arm and led her over to the front row of ebony seats with burnt-orange upholstery. They were directly between the two sets of goal hoops and had an uninterrupted view of the pitch. All around them people were taking their seats in the stands and she could see thousands of pairs of gold omnioculars sweeping round the stadium; some peering at the top box to see if they could see anyone famous. Kathryn was not surprised, therefore, to see many pairs of omnioculars flash her way once people realised that there was a Potter sitting in the front row of the top box. The booming voice of the commentator rang out soon after and she was glad when the attention was diverted off her.
"Welcome, welcome to the final of the four hundred and twenty-seventh Quidditch World Cup!" there was much cheering and applause. Kathryn looked down at her tasselled program. 'A display from the team mascots' will precede the match' it read. Harry, Ron and Hermione had told her about the Veela and Leprechauns that had been the displays at the last World Cup and she wondered what the Australians and the Swedes would have prepared.
Once the crowds had settled down again and the mascots were safely situated on opposite sides of the pitch, the commentary started up again.
"Right, after that wonderful display," the commentator cried out over the wild applause.
"I think the Veela were better." He commented in her ear as the commentator went on.
"Well, you would say that, wouldn't you?" she raised her eyebrows as she whispered back.
"And now," the voice boomed again, "I give you the Australian national side!" seven players in deep blue robes sped out of an entrance onto the pitch.
"I give you," the commentator yelled, "Ferguson! Lynch! Birkett! Tyler! Kennedy! Wiggan! And, Arnott!" Kathryn could just make out the silver lettering on their backs as they sped round the stadium. She noted the change to the Australian line up with the replacement of their previous seeker with the relatively young, but highly skilled Felicity Arnott.
"And, please welcome the Swedish national team!" the commentator went on. Seven players in blue and yellow striped robes sped out of the opposite entrance.
"Please welcome; Andersson! Johansson! Mastersson! Frederikson! Mankell! Larsson! And Wallander!" as with their Australian counterparts, the Swedish team sped round the pitch several times before coming to settle in their positions.
"And now for our referee!" the commentator cried. "Please put your hands together for Fernando Feliciano!" despite the hunky image that name conveyed, Feliciano was a thin and gangly man with a shock of wild red hair that clashed terribly with his orange robes. He strode out onto the pitch, broom in hand and whistle between his teeth, towards the large crate that sat in the centre. It was wobbling slightly; owing to the ferocious Bludgers, balls that sped around and tried to knock players off their brooms, which it contained. He mounted his broom and kicked the lid of the crate open. Immediately the two Bludgers flew out of their restraints and began to zoom around the pitch. Kathryn also saw, for the tiniest of moments, the miniscule golden Snitch before that too vanished. Feliciano threw the Quaffle up between the players and gave a short, sharp blast on his whistle.
"They're off!" the commentator yelled. "It's Johansson, Andersson, Johansson, Mastersson, Tyler, Ferguson, Birkett, Ferguson, Birkett, Tyler, Australia score!" the crowds went wild as the scoreboard changed to Australia 10, Sweden 0. It was Quidditch like Kathryn had never imagined. She had thought that the qualifier in Dubai had been fast paced, but this; this was so fast that she found herself having to watch some parts in slow motion on her omnioculars. The Australian chasers were immense; they were a perfect team that seemed to all think in the same way. She hoped that this was what her Gryffindor squad had become, despite their few problems at the start of sixth year.
She spent most of the match perched on the edge of her seat, unable to tear her eyes away from the game. There had already been several fouls on the Swedish part and the Australian Keeper was sporting a black eye as a result. The score was now seventy, sixty to Australia and the game was moving so fast that the commentator was finding it difficult to keep up with the Chasers as they passed the Quaffle between them. A collective gasp swept through the crowd as, in a moment of carelessness, two of the Swedish Chasers collided with one of the Australian Beaters. Medi-Wizards swarmed onto the pitch as Kennedy fell from his broom, catching him before he hit the pitch and giving him some potion.
"He's back in the game, no need to worry!" the commentator said jovially as a slightly dazed Kennedy flew back up to join his team mates.
Twenty minutes later, in the midst of a speedy commentary, the commentator suddenly yelled; "Look at Arnott go!"
Turning in her seat, Kathryn trained her omnioculars on the Australian seeker who was, with a look of pure concentration on her face, speeding towards the ground.
"She's seen the Snitch!" the commentator cried.
"She's feinting." Kathryn whispered straight after this into Mr Malfoy's ear. Sure enough, at the last possible moment, Arnott pulled out of her dive and shot up into the air. The Swedish seeker, Wallander, was not so lucky; slamming into the pitch face first and skidding about twenty feet. Medi-Wizards again rushed out and surrounded the fallen player who looked very stunned and was clutching a bloody nose.
"See!" she whispered again. "She just wants the time to look for the Snitch without him following her around. She pointed down to the burly Swedish Seeker who was, at that point having his broken nose mended.
A couple of penalties and goals later, and the scoreboard read Australia 130, Sweden 90. The Swedish players were struggling to keep possession of the Quaffle as the Australian Chasers sped round them; stealing it whenever they attempted to pass between them. The Beaters were also not having the best of times either; trying to protect their players as well as avoiding being hit themselves. One of them had a bloody nose and another had taken a nasty hit to his leg but had refused medical assistance. Harry had been right when he had said that Australia had the better line up. The Swedish team were floundering desperately against the might of the Australian chasers and Kathryn only hoped that the snitch was caught soon to end their pain.
"And its Ferguson with the Quaffle, Birkett, Tyler, Birkett scores!" the commentator cried. "That leaves the score one hundred and forty to Australia and ninety to Sweden." Kathryn watched as the Chasers dodged the Bludger sent their way by the Swedish Beater. Quite by chance, she caught a glimpse of the Snitch as it fluttered near the Swedish Keeper's ear. This was replaced a second later by a flash of blue as the Australian Seeker shot after it.
"And Arnott has her eye on the Snitch, she's not feinting this time!" the commentator cried into the now silent stadium apart from the cries coming from the brightly coloured rosettes. Kathryn watched on the edge of her seat as the Swedish chaser followed closely behind Arnott; trying in vain to catch up.
"You won't catch her, she's got a Firebolt." She whispered as she watched Wallander fall behind. Sure enough, the Swedish seeker could not keep up and, moments later, she saw Arnott's fingers close around the tiny Golden Snitch.
"And that's it!" the commentator shouted, although he was barely heard over the cheers coming from all sides. "Australia win; three hundred and twenty points to ninety!" the crowds exploded with joy; Australian supporters sending red, blue and silver fireworks into the sky with their wands. The Australian side sped round the pitch several times; Arnott waving the Snitch above her head in triumph.
"And now the Quidditch Cup is brought into the top box." The commentator informed them as the lights in the stadium dimmed. She saw thousands of pairs of omnioculars train themselves on the top box as it was brightly illuminated. Kathryn squinted as the gigantic silver cup was brought forward and both teams landed in the box. The Australian and Swedish Ministers congratulated the defeated Swedes first; presenting them with their medals before turning to the Australian side, all of whom had huge grins on their faces.
The Australian Minister handed them the cup, which they raised above their heads in victory, much to the delight of the crowds. Flashbulbs went off at the photographers descended on the scene; capturing the Australian victory in all its glory. The people in the top box also rose from their seats to congratulate both teams. The Australian team greeted Kathryn as if she was an old friend, despite the fact that they had only met her once. She made sure to congratulate Arnott on her tactics and skill and they spent a good ten minutes discussing what it was that made the Firebolt such an outstanding racing broom.