The Scars to Prove It

“It appears our seats are not as good as we were lead to believe, Draco. They let all of the riff-raff in these days.”

Carina paused before taking her seat. She hadn’t seen Lucius or Draco before that moment. Even now, as Lucius peered down at the group critically, his gaze slid right over the top of her black hair. She swallowed, and forced herself to take the last few steps to her seat between Harry and Farren. Once there, she let her gaze flicker up and rest on the Malfoys. Lucius had turned around, but Draco still twisted around to peer at the group. She caught his eye, which she had carefully avoided for four years, and the odd feeling settling in her chest wasn’t entirely unpleasant. He gave her his best sneer, but that wasn’t unfamiliar. This had been the look he gave her since the day he was born, when she had tottered around his crib, letting him grip her thumb. Always frowning. Always scrunching his face as if something smelled foul. The only reason she could begin to imagine that moment was because of the pictures always pulled out at parties. Draco and Carina, the pair that was meant to storm Slytherin. The nostalgia, for that must be what settled in her chest, overwhelmed her sense for a moment; without a thought to suppress it, Carina smiled back at Malfoy. His sneer faltered, his icy eyes blinked, and even Farren noticed his cheek turn pink before he swung back around.

Carina, realizing what she had done, tensed. Even here, even in sacred Gryffindor, she had to hide sometimes. Sometimes her Rosier would still show. Farren, mistaking this for a possible act of aggression, wrapped her small hand around Carina’s wrist, quite like how she was holding the twins back. But Carina stayed tense, her eyes closed shut until she could repress the happy memories from before, the ones that made now so much more difficult.

But then the air burst into static as the commentator began announcing the mascots — first the Bulgarian Veela. With a side-glance at Farren, they both peered over their noses at the striking figures dancing below. All around them, the men in the room leaned forward and began to slowly rise out of their chairs to get a better look. But as soon as the dancers appeared, they were interrupted by Ireland’s fireworks and sighs and groans could literally be heard all throughout the stadium.

“How nauseating,” Farren commented. The fireworks were followed by leprechauns tossing Galleons into the crowd. The gold rained down on the top box, and nearly everyone dove for at least a piece or two. Ron excitedly threw his Galleons at Harry, telling him he’d then paid him back. George and Fred calmly picked the gold off their laps and placed them in their pockets, while Farren held her hands out in front of her for more to fall. But Carina resisted the urge to pocket the gold that had fallen neatly on her jeans. She pushed away the images of her last few Galleons, and instead she stared at the back of the Malfoy’s heads — they were brushing the Galleons off their chairs with small smirks.

“Your Slytherin’s showing a bit,” George teased. Carina swung around to glare at him — he had hit a touchy subject and he knew it. But he smiled, ignoring Fred and Farren as they leaned around him to pelt each other with their Galleons. Carina rolled her eyes in defeat and crossed her arms. This movement pushed the gold off her and towards Farren — she picked it up without a glanced and threw the ammo at Fred.

“And now, ladies and gentlemen, kindly welcome — the Bulgarian National Quidditch team! I give you — Dimitrov! Ivanova! Zograf! Levski! Vulchanov! Volkov1 Aaaaaand — Krum!”

Carina unfolded her arms to lean forward, her lips rounded in a small ‘o.’Even Farren and Fred were stilled as the Bulgarian men soared straight by their box — so fast that Carina couldn’t make out the names on their jerseys. They were quickly followed by the Irish, and at the point Farren had trained her Omnioculars on Lynch. As soon as the Quaffle had been thrown, it danced from player to player (though not often to the Bulgarian Chasers) while Krum twice tried to fake Lynch out; the second time, it worked, and much to Farren’s dismay the Irish seeker crashed head-first onto the pitch. But Farren’s gasp couldn’t drown out the booming voice of Ludo Bagman: “Krum’s got it1 Krum’s got the Snitch! Bulgaria catches the Snitch but Ireland wins!”

Carina shot forward. “He caught it? I didn’t see it! I missed it! I thought it was a fake!” But from beside her, Fred and George were cheering madly — they must have won their bet.

Carina stopped. “You bet on this? You put your entire savings on Krum catching the Snitch but Ireland winning anyway?”

George turned to her, his eyes wild with excitement. “Yeah,” he replied a little breathlessly. “We actually did.”

She whistled, running a hand through her limp hair. “You must have angels watching out for you, mate.”

He laughed, just as breathless, before Fred tackled him in a hug. Beside her, Farren buzzed with energy because Ireland won — but her eyebrows still knit together in concern for Lynch.

“He’ll be fine…” Carina began to say, but just at that moment the Aurors outside the box opened the doors, and the Ireland team in it’s entirety strode in. All of them, even their limping Seeker, had wide grins on their muddy red faces. Neither of the girls spoke as the sweaty men passed by them towards the windows, where Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge was waiting with the Cup.

“Congratulations to the Irish National Quidditch Team for winning — the 1994 — Quidditch WORLD CUP!” Fudge had to pause at the end to build up his voice over the increasingly booming cheers of the crowd.

“Oh my god,” both girls breathed, clutching at each other’s arms blindly. They only peeled their eyes from the Irish boys when the Bulgarians came in — with Krum leading them. “Oh my god.”

Fred rolled his eyes while George laughed quietly. “It’s like watching you with Lockhart all over again.” Carina balked, turning to slap George’s arm. The movement attracted the eyes of Troy and Moran, and Carina immediately blushed and fell silent.



“Don’t let your mother know you’ve been gambling,” Mr. Weasley gently reminded the twins as he passed them on the way out the tent. “I’ll be out helping the Ministry with keeping everyone unnoticed by the Muggles. Take care of your sister. And feet off the table!”

“Feet off the table!” the twins repeated, lifting their feet momentarily before resting them against it once more.

Farren plopped on the couch to stare at the ceiling of the tent. Her celebratory green hair created a small halo around her tan face. “Did you guys get anything for tonight?”

“Oh god, I hope they did. That would be fantastic,” Carina chimed in from the kitchen.

Fred glared over at the girls. “Yeah, we’ve got a bottle of Firewhiskey in our room. But you shouldn’t talk so damn loud. Someone might hear you.”

Farren rolled her eyes. “Yeah, and who would snitch?”

“Have you ever met Hermione Granger?”

Both girls scoffed in unison. “Please,” Farren snorted. “Hermione’s pretty cool —”

She probably would have gone on, but there was sudden a tremor in the earth under them. The four exchanged odd looks, trying to listen to see if anything out of the ordinary was happening.

George gave a half-hearted chuckle. “Probably the Irish celebrating a bit too much.” Carina stood and moved cautiously to the zipped flap of the tent. She quietly unzipped it and peered out for just a moment — suddenly she threw herself back, causing her three curious friends to jump as well.

Mr. Weasley, very disheveled, gave a short apology to Carina (who wasn’t even trying to pick herself up) and ran into the rooms of the tent. “Weasleys! Everyone get out here now!”

Slowly, Ginny, Hermione, Harry, and Ron emerged from their respective rooms. Mr. Weasley herded everyone together even as he was packing all the important things into their packs. “Get everything important — wands, money.. Harry, your cloak —”

“I.. I didn’t bring it,” Harry replied, his dark brows knitting together. And why should he have? What use would he have for it here?

Mr. Weasley nodded hurriedly. “The Death Eaters are marching. You kids need to stick together, get to the woods and out of the way. Fred, George, watch after your sister! I have to go help the Ministry.” All the red headed children had scattered, but Harry and Carina stood stock still — Carina, out of terror, Harry, out of confusion. Mr. Weasley peered down at them. “The two of you might want to pull your hoods up once you get out there.”

Carina nodded, and tugged on Harry’s arm to get him started.

“Death Eaters? But what are Death Eaters?” Carina pressed her lips together. This must have been exactly what she sounded like in her first year.

“They’re the Dark Lord’s followers. They haven’t done anything public since that night,” she reported resolutely. She left Harry at the door to the guy’s room and ran back for her cloak and wand before meeting everyone by the entrance. Mr. Weasley had already gone back to try to calm things down, and at this point there wer screams and people running from just outside their tent.

“Do we have everyone?” George bellowed over the noise. As the tallest, the twins counted, reminded everyone to stick together, and opened the tent.

Carina wasn’t prepared for the chaos that lay just outside the tent flap. Her eyes first caught the fires that were spreading through the campsite, but then traveled further back to see the waves of people running through the tents, and even further back to see the group of masked, hooded men marching towards her.

An inhuman noise of fright escaped her mouth, and her knees locked. Harry pulled his sweatshirt hood over his hair and ran off with Ron and Hermione, while Fred was tugging Ginny along another way followed closely by Farren. But she didn’t budge. Her father was in there, twenty yards away, wielding his wand to create terror for his pleasure. She hadn’t seen him in years, and now fifteen yards away. Fourteen… twelve.

Something locked onto Carina’s hand tight, eliciting a scream that had been quickly building. But it was only George, and he wasn’t looking at her at the moment. He quickly tugged her hood over her pitch black hair, and then suddenly he had his wand out in front of them, and he was determinedly guiding her through the terror-stricken mob. Swallowing, she gripped his hand in return and managed to pick her feet and run alongside him instead of behind. Twenty yards. Twenty five.

“Where are Fred and Farren?” Carina screamed over the thundering boots.

“Trying to get Ginny to safety,” George bellowed back. Carina thought of saying she was sorry for holding him up, putting him in danger, but she bit her tongue. Now wasn’t the time, and she knew she’d be reprimanded for trying to apologize anyway, so why get a mouthful for ash for it?

As they ran further and further from the mob, and as the trees became closer and closer, the two slowed to a jog and began looking for their family. It looked like a nation of refugees, what with all the wizards huddled together in the trees.

“Is that… is that Draco Malfoy?” George breathed from beside her, leaning down to whisper through her hood. Carina’s head snapped up to look at the pale boy leaning against a thin pine tree, his leather shoes shining stark against the pine needles. She didn’t answer, but she pulled her hand free of George’s and walked over to the boy.

“Draco,” she said lowly, clearing her throat. He looked up at her, and just like earlier that day the surprise wiped the smirk off his face. Apparently, he hadn’t learned quite yet how different she was now: a respectable pure-blood outsider would simply ignore him and his family. Occasionally thinly-veiled insults would be exchanged, but nothing so informal as addressing one another in earnest, nor smiling during a greeting as she had earlier.

“Carina?” It wasn’t a question as to who she was — up close it would be pretty difficult to be mistaken. She still looked just like her mother.

“Is that… are our fathers out there?” she asked hesitantly, and he seemed to get his attitude back.

“My father is. I know your’s wished to, but he is in such disgrace for fathering a blood-traitor like yourself I’m not sure if they would let him. Oh, yes, now I remember,” Draco said with a smirk. “They let him join their party once more only when he swore to euthanize you once you turned seventeen. Prune the diseased branches from the ardent tree of Rosier, I believe he said.”

Carina turned, biting her inner lip. Not that it surprised her, what Draco said… but it wouldn’t be the truth if she said her hands weren’t trembling.

“You probably ought to get out of here, Carina,” Draco called mockingly. “They’re after Muggles, but they might not see a difference. Might throw you up there, too.”