Status: A life in snapshots

The Silver Three

Quidditch World Cup

I brush a strand of my hair into my headband, fixing the last detail of my appearance before turning and looking at Draco and Blaise. They are both dressed in nice suits, pocket squares tucked into their pockets. Blaise has a crimson pocket square while Draco sports a dark navy, making his eyes stand out.

I am dressed in a crimson shirt with a crème sweater tucked into the waist. A heavy, warm peacoat hangs off of my frame. Though it isn’t savagely cold yet, the wind at the stadium will be bitter, especially in the large box where we will be sitting with the minister. I am more than pleased to be sitting with the Minister of Magic, and I’ve already made note to introduce myself.

Lucius Malfoy is going to the game with us. He has already greeted me as warmly as he can manage. This consists of a cold kiss on both cheeks and asking how my family is doing. I answer politely and he gives Draco a grin that I only recently began to understand. It is a grin of approval, that he likes us being friends.

My family does the same thing to me.

“Are you ready, princess?” Draco smirks at me and pushes himself off of the wall. Blaise turns and grins at me. I approach them and Blaise reaches out and pulls a piece of lint from the collar of my jacket. “Your hair looks lovely enough.”

“I don’t want to look ratty in front of the minister, surely.”

Blaise snorts and I turn a glare on him. “You would never look ratty, Blackburn.”

“Of course I don’t,” I say, giving them a severe look. “I’m not some poorly little mudblood walking around on the street. I’m Eleanor Seraphine Blackburn, my line-"

“Stretches back to Salazar,” Draco and Blaise say in unison, nodding and rolling their eyes at me. Lucius, despite himself, grins at us. It is the only sign that I’ve ever seen that he is mildly interested in showing emotion outside of the spectrum of apathy. “We know.”

Lucius fixes his coat and beckons us.

Outside of the home is a sleek, black car. The ministry’s officials all have cars that have been charmed and enhanced in order to accommodate wizards. Though Draco’s father is not technically an official, they allow him to use a car. He’s important enough and influential enough to earn one.

We slide in and I look around the inside, impressed. The seats are made of red leather and they go far back. The interior is cool and dark and I find that I’m quite comfortable as Lucius instructs the driver on where to go before waving his wand and closing the space between the driver and us in the back. He instantly turns to read the Dailey Prophet, tuning us out.

Sitting between Blaise and Draco, the conversation goes to Quidditch the moment we begin to move. The three of us talk easily. Everything is easy with them and I feel like nothing else in the world matters. When the conversation slips to talking about school, I begin to get distracted.

My exhaustion begins to get the best of me. I still feel tired from the night before. Blaise arrived that morning, and before he joined us, Draco and I had spent the night talking. We had sat down in his drawing room in front of the fire place eating lemon cakes for a majority of the night, and I had slept very little.

Now, I let my head fall on his shoulder. I feel him laugh and he puts his arm around me, letting me adjust comfortably into his side. If his father notices or thinks anything of this, he doesn’t say so. It makes me feel better when thinking about what my mother had asked me. I know Draco doesn’t see me as a pretty prize.

Draco lets me fall asleep on his shoulder. I’m only in a light sleep, that place where you feel at peace but can hear everything in the background as a dull, throbbing sound against the eardrums. I can still smell Draco, even in my sleepy state. I curl into him further, never wanting to leave. He is more comfort than I have ever known.

When I wake up, it’s to Draco murmuring my name. I blink my eyes open and sit up right away, whipping underneath my eyes where I feel my makeup sticking to my skin underneath my eyes. Blaise teases me lightly before reaching over and straightening my headband.

“Thank you,” I yawn, covering my mouth.

We slide out of the car and I squint at the brightness of the day. In the distance, the stadium is massive. It is in the shape of a giant, metal bowl. It sits in a field of green, swimming among the bright color. There are seas of tents of every color and swarms of people cheering. Fireworks explode, people sing and chant.

The field is alive. It is a town of green and red, fans of Ireland and Bulgaria swaying too and fro. The colors somehow make sense in my head as I pull my coat tighter. There is a chill sweeping through the tents that are pushed too close together. Looking at them, I know that if there were a riot of any sort, the people in tents would be in trouble. There is no room to run, and there are too many people to run over one another.

My mother’s words haunt me lightly as I hurry to follow Lucius’s long strides.

People move out of our way easily. If they do not know who Lucius Malfoy is, they certainly don’t want to get in his way. He looks quite intimidating with his long, silver hair and his cold blue eyes. I do not think he is as scary as some people seem to think. Then again, there are so few things that scare me.

I have three fears that I can think of at the top of my head. In order, they are my mother, failure, and drowning. I’ve never been close to drowning, but is the closest thing to death that I fear. Imagining water filling my lungs and being dragged to the bottom of the Black Lake is a nightmare that haunts me often.

A large tent is set up for us. It is close to the stadium and far away from the others. There are other fine tents in the area, all of them far apart and sectioned off from the swarms of tents. I realize these are tents for members of the ministry. Guards let us walk by without a second glance and we enter one of the first handful of tents in the bunch.

Inside of the tent is massive and elegant. A chandelier hands from the ceiling, casting light over the expanse of space. There are plenty of places to sit and sleep in the tent, but we are not staying the night. After the game commences, Draco, Blaise and I are to travel to the home on the countryside. Lucius and Narcissa seem to have no qualms about lending us the house.

Sitting down at one of the tables with tea, I pour myself a cup. The faint smell of bergamont and lemon reaches my nose. I reach for sugar and add a single cup in the drink before waving my fingers around the spoon to stir it. Draco pauses and looks at the cup then back at me.

I smirk. I’ve just recently started to perform small tasks of wandless magic. “Impressive,” he murmurs, elbowing Blaise. “When did our Eleanor start learning wandless magic?”

“I’ve just started. All I can do is spoons and occasionally open a lock.”

Blaise laughs. “How often is occasionally?”

“Once,” I mutter into my teacup, hearing their resounding laughter.

We fill the tent with chatter as Lucius goes wherever he goes. We do not ask and I do not feel any urgency to know where it is that he has gone off to. The three of us begin to discuss the matchup for the night. I am beyond excited to see the game. For me, I only see two futures in doing something I’m good at. Those are playing quidditch professionally, or an auror.

Though an auror is certainly strange for someone of my nature, I know that it would benefit me well. I’m good at potions in particular, and I am excellent with dark magic. An auror had to be competent in both, and it seems that my talents certainly could contribute.

I could also protect my family and friends that way. It would be unethical to use the position for their benefit, but it would keep them out of harms way, and it would certainly make me a favorite among the pureblood families.

For a few hours, we talk. Lucius returns with the minister, talking about something that I cannot hear. Right away, the three of us stand. It’s almost time for the match and I’m buzzing with excitement. Outside, there are chants for both teams going on, the noise growing in volume. I know that the stadium will be even louder, and it excites me.

After Draco greets the minister, I step forward. He turns his eyes on me and I smile beatifically. “Good evening minister,” I say in a clear voice. “I’m Eleanor Blackburn. I’m pleased to meet you.”

“Miss Blackburn!” he says happily and shakes my hand vigorously. They are clammy and uncomfortable. I’m thankful when he releases my hand. “I’ve heard much about you. Your father is a fine gentleman.”

I grin. Father doesn’t work in the ministry like almost everyone else. He works as a private investigator, a contract auror, of sorts. Once or twice the ministry has asked for his help on certain cases, and he always has proved himself rather useful. Of course, most people do not know or they cannot confirm that my father covers up most issues dealing with Death Eaters.

The need to protect our own seems to run in the family.

Our small group makes our way to the press box where we will watch the game. Draco and Blaise are on either side of me and the three of us are nearly vibrating with excitement. The wind is cold and it burns my lips and nose, but I don’t care. I sniffle slightly and pull my coat tighter as we begin walking up the stairs.

Though the stadium looks like it could be a death trap, I know that it is sturdy. The greatest magic and skill has gone into designing and building it. It was a lengthy project, and as thousands of people fill the stadiums to look down at the pitch below, I can’t help to feel a moment of surreal beauty.

We walk along the catwalk and someone catches my eye. Messy, black hair, glasses that are slightly eschew and green eyes that are always very bright, despite his glasses always being dirty. I touch Draco on the side slightly and his blue eyes follow where I’m looking.

“Blimey.” That’s Ron’s voice, I recognize it after years of poorly answering Snape’s surprise questions in class. “How far up are we, dad?”

Lucius turns and glances towards them, looking up at the Weasley’s and Potter. Hermione is there too, her curly hair untamable in the wind rushing through the stadium. My hair is perfectly still and in place, making me smirk. “Well put it this way,” Lucius says loudly, drawing all of their attention. Draco, Blaise and I stand together, looking at the caravan of poorly dressed and rosy-cheeked wizards. “If it rains, you’ll be the first to know.”

It is an insult, as best I can tell. Lucius colors his voice with disdain, turning a quite ordinary statement into one that turns Mr. Weasley red in the face. “We’re in the ministry box,” Draco sneers. We begin to walk and I look at Hermione, who stares at me. She often does this, glancing between Draco and I as though she expects me to stop him. I don’t. “Invited personally by Cornelius Fudge himself.”

“Don’t boast, Draco.” Lucius tone is mild as he taps Draco lightly with his cane. Draco looks put out, so I touch his hand lightly. No one notices, but he straightens and looks at me. He gives me a nod that is only a fraction of a movement. “There is no need with these people.”

“I rather like your scarf.” Hermione is surprised to hear my voice and I gesture to the rag around her neck. At first she looks surprised, then almost pleased until I continue, “Did your mother make that by hand? She must be very crafty, being… you know.”

The statement hangs in the air. Harry grabs her arm and pulls here away from me. Draco snickers and Blaise is the silent smirk over my head. We’re the three points of a sharp weapon. Draco is the large swipe that opens up the gash. I am the subtle stab that hits deep. Blaise is the feeling of pride lost.

We watch the game in comfort. I feel the strain in my throat as I cheer, the frustration when Viktor Krum loses sight of the snitch. I am leaning forward in my seat, screaming at the players to pass the quaffle. I know this game and I feel it in my bones. It’s as though I am connected seamlessly to the players. I feel the frustration every time a keep keeps the quaffle away.

Ireland is taking no mercy on the pitch. They rule in possession of the quaffle, and I dig my nails into the seat. Bulgaria is doing nothing but chasing them, and I cannot help but feel bad for Viktor Krum who is trying to go after the snitch to save his team and gain points.

Draco, a seeker, is angrier than I am. He yells for the team to support their seeker and to start scoring. Viktor catching the snitch alone will not win the game if Ireland keeps scoring.

This is exactly what happens. Viktor’s catching of the snitch is absolutely useless when faced with Ireland’s scoring. They completely outplay Bulgaria and I follow Draco out of the stadium with a sense of profound frustration. It was, of course, a fun match to watch. Yet there are few things as potent as feeling crestfallen when watching your favorite team fall.

Lucius excuses himself and tells us to meet him at our tent. I look to see that he is going to speak with the head of the Department of Ministry. While I do not remember his name, I know his face. We lose Draco’s father in the crowd but we push together, forcefully moving anyone who will not already move.

We are in a sea of green. Irish fans swirl around me, their raucous laughter and cheering right against me. I feel my ribcage vibrate with an Irish folksong blasting from somewhere. I don’t know where it is coming from but it moves me from the inside out. I continue to walk with Draco.

That’s when it starts. At first, the screams sound like some sort of celebration. I listen to them and I start to feel worried at the pitch and tone. I start to believe that I’m paranoid, that nothing is wrong. What my mother had said before the match is getting to me and it’s surely the Irish celebrating.

Except that Draco and Blaise hear it too. Blaise stops walking and he removes his wand, looking around with a serious expression on his face. Draco grabs the sleeve of my coat and pulls me to him. His grip is furious, turning his pale hands bone white. I look back at the crowd as it begins to surge, and that’s when I see what Draco sees.

The black masks. The cloaks the color of death. They are hear and they bring the darkness with them, burning tents along the way as they surge forward. I feel a chill creep into my spine, not unlike the chill that I felt stepping into the stadium. The three of us are transfixed, staring as the crowd parts around us, water against a rock.

We do not move as the Death Eaters surge forward. Everyone is in a panic. The air tastes like smoke and fear, and yet I am not afraid. I am curious as I watch, the three of us pushed together, wands out. Someone knocks into me, but I hardly stumble with Draco’s grip on my coat.

The crowd of black sees us. Some pause on their raid, and I look into a faceless-face of black. I do not know who is behind the void mask, but their eyes stare at me and I do not waver.

One Death Eater steps towards us, perhaps unfamiliar with our faces. All three of us react, wands up and facing the group head on. No one makes a move, and there are people still running by us with their children in their arms. But we all stand there and stare at one another before another Death Eater from behind pulls the one who steps towards us.

“I believe you should move along,” I say, trying to yell over the madness. “Surely the three of us are less than a threat to you, under the circumstances…”

Like smoke, they move forward, as though they never paused to acknowledge us. Draco’s hand is on my hip now, wedging us together. We turn and we hurry in the crowd, going the wrong way but we don’t care. The flames roar around us, hungry and dauntless.

“Eleanor Blackburn,” Draco murmurs into my ear. “You never cease to amaze me.”

I realize that I never want to stop amazing Draco Malfoy.
♠ ♠ ♠
Outfit

Told you, Eleanor is not very nice.

She also will never back down from a potential fight.

-N