Chapter Text
It’s been three weeks since the ceremony at Malfoy Manor.
You expected coldness from Lysander. Distance. Possibly cruelty. But instead, your husband has been nothing but respectful. Even on the morning you had found out that you weren’t pregnant he’d been understanding, kind even.
All your days look the same. You eat breakfast with the Malfoys in the sunlit conservatory before Lysander goes to work at the Ministry. Lucius had secured him the position as Pius Thicknesse’s right hand man. It had caused a small scandal, the Daily Prophet had even run a handful of articles about it. But you knew better than to ask either of them about it.
After breakfast, you usually stroll the gardens or read. In the afternoon, you help Draco with his homework and the extra schoolwork Lucius has him do.
You eat dinner with the Malfoys in the evening and your nights belong to Lysander alone. He never raises his voice. He doesn’t touch you against your will. You’ve almost started to relax around him.
Almost. Because you still don’t have your wand back. You’d asked him about it once, casually. He’d smiled and changed the subject. You haven’t brought it up again, even though you feel naked and helpless without it.
At just before 5 o’clock, you’re standing by the fireplace in the living room as usual, waiting for Lysander’s return. He expects you to greet him with a smile and a kiss when he comes back from work. And just like clockwork, he steps out of the fireplace exactly when the clock strikes five. He sets down his briefcase and embraces you.
You press a kiss to his cheek. “Good evening, husband. How was your day?”
“Exhausting. The Quidditch World Cup is keeping us all up on our toes.” He lets his hands wander down your body, stopping on the curve of your ass. “That reminds me. Is everything packed?”
You nod. “Pipsie did it all this morning. I checked our bags. We’re all set.”
He squeezes down and pulls you even closer to him. “Did she pack the second tent?”
You nod again, your cheeks turning crimson. You honestly can’t wait till his words and innuendo lose their effect on you.
Lysander chuckles. “We’ve got about an hour before dinner. Let’s make the most of it.”
*********************
Early the next morning, you Apparate just outside the campsite for the Quidditch World Cup. An older witch checks your names and points you in the general direction of your spot. So far, it is everything you hoped it would be. Tents the size of villas, magical lights floating through the sky, and fans draped in enchanted flags and face paint. The air thrums with excitement and magic.
When you arrive at your spot you ask Lucius for the tent's manual but he just laughs like you made the joke of the century. He pulls out his wand and erects the tents with a flick of his wand.
“But they said that we’re not allowed to use magic because of the muggles,” you interject. It earns you an incredulous look from Draco.
Lucius places a hand on your shoulder in a fatherly fashion, then says: “[y/n], the day I care about muggles is the day you need to check if I'm under the Imperius curse.”
You suppress the urge to roll your eyes. Just as you’re about to open your mouth and argue with your father-in-law, Lysander grabs your hand and pulls you towards your tent. “Excuse us, Father. But we want to unpack before the match.”
Lucius lets out another laugh. "I'm happy you finally see the merits of being organised."
Lysander winks at his father and holds open the flap of the tent for you. You step inside and gasp. The interior looks like the sweetest little cottage. You go to the kitchen and rummage in the cabinets. Pipsie has seemingly packed enough provisions for two weeks.
“Did you bring my wand? I could make dinner tonight,” you call out to your husband, trying to keep your voice light.
Lysander enters the kitchen and looks at you with a smile that has no warmth.
“No, darling,” he says smoothly. “I didn’t. I'll let you use mine.”
Your heart misses a couple of beats when he closes the distance between you with a few strides.
“But,” he continues, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, “you’ll get it back when we’re home. That is, if you keep behaving like a good little witch.”
His voice dips on the last three words. You open your mouth but he kisses you before you can answer. Then he guides you into the bedroom, where a big canopy bed is waiting for you.
*********************
When you make your way to the stadium at dusk, you can’t help but notice the countless saleswitches and wizards who are brandishing their merchandise.
Lysander squeezes your hand. “Do you want to take a look?” He smiles at you fondly. You’ve grown used to him being affectionate and attentive after you’ve spent some private time together.
You nod and beam up at him. You walk along the lines of vendors and stop before a cart piled high with omnioculars.
You pick up one pair and look through them.
The saleswizard eagerly tells you the details. “You can replay action, watch in slow-motion and get written commentary to all moves. Bargain – ten galleons each.”
You set them down and frown. Ten galleons far surpass your daily allowance. You give the wizard a small smile. “Thank you, but-”
“We’ll take five of them,” Lysander interrupts and hands the saleswizard the money.
He looks like he can’t believe his luck. “Thank you, sir.” He almost takes a bow. “Whoever you support, I hope they’ll win.”
Lysander hands you your omnioculars and hangs one pair around his neck. The other three, he holds along the straps. “Draco will love them. And we don’t want Father and Mother to fell left out, do we?”
“Thank you, Lysander.” You smile but you can’t suppress the feeling that you will have to pay for them one way or the other.
*********************
“Prime seats!” exclaims the Ministry witch at the entrance after checking your tickets. “Top Box! Straight upstairs, as high as you can go.”
You climb upwards with the rest of the crowd until it thins out and it’s only you and the other Malfoys still going up. Finally, you reach the top of the stairs and enter a small box. You look around for empty seats but most of them are already taken. There are only two seats left in the back row and three seats behind a family with characteristic red hair on the other side. You gulp. Impossible. They wouldn’t be able to afford tickets up here, would they?
“Ah, and here’s Lucius!” the Minister of Magic exclaims. He points to the three free seats on the left. “Why don’t you take these. And the happy couple can take the ones over there.” He smiles at you and points to the other seats.
“Ah, Fudge.” Lucius holds out his hand. “How are you?”
In the corner of your eyes, you see three heads turning around, watching you closely. Your heart skips a beat. “Is that Harry Potter?” your voice is barely above a whisper.
Draco nods. He looks like he smelled something rotten. “Yes, unfortunately.”
“Do you know him? What’s he like? Can you introduce me to him?” Your excitement gets the better of you.
Your brother-in-law looks at you incredulously. “You’re kidding, right?”
Before you can answer, Lysander grabs your hand and gently places you beside him. He is standing next to Cornelius Fudge now. “Thank you again for this formidable wedding gift, Minister.”
You nod and smile. “We’re very grateful, sir.”
Fudge takes a small bow. “Oh, don’t mention it. And allow me to introduce you to Mr. Oblansk – Obalonsk – Mr – well, he’s the Bulgarian Minister for Magic, and he can’t understand a word I’m saying anyway, so never mind.”
Lysander holds out a hand to the foreign Minister for Magic and says something to him in Bulgarian. The Minister laughs and puts a finger to his lips. Then he takes your hand and presses a kiss on the back of it. You smile at him in return. “Nice to meet you, Minister.”
“Lucius has just given a very generous contribution to St Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, Arthur. He’s here as my guest.”
You turn around at Fudge’s mention of the name.
“How – how nice,” Mr Weasley says. His smile doesn’t reach his eyes and looks very strained. Your heart is racing. Next to him, you spot Bill, Charlie’s older brother. He doesn’t seem to notice you, though. He is looking down at his fists, clearly trying to hold himself back. What did you miss while you were talking to the Bulgarian? You quickly let your gaze wander over the redheads but luckily Charlie isn’t among them.
You quickly avert your eyes and usher Lysander to your seats. But before you can sit down, somebody calls your name. You look around and recognize Ludo Bagman. You used to spent your coffee break together, sometimes.
“I’ll just be a moment, Lysander. I’m just going to say hello to Ludo real quick, alright?” You place a kiss on his cheek before he can say no and make your way over to the head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports.
He gives you a quick hug. “It’s good to see you, [y/n].”
“Likewise. Are you commentating today’s match?”
Ludo nods. “Yes, I am. I’m actually really nervous about it, but don’t tell anyone.”
You laugh and shake your head. “Of course not, Ludo.”
He chuckles. “Listen, [y/n]. I actually wanted to ask you about joining our Ministry Quidditch team. We’re a chaser short and I remember how good you were at Hogwarts.”
“Oh, you flatter me. But I wasn’t that good, besides-”
“Not that good?!” Ludo interrupts. “Hey, Charlie. Come over here for a sec, I need your expert opinion.”
Your stomach screams and you feel like you're going to puke, as you see the familiar Weasley strolling toward you. The shock keeps you rooted in place.
“Charlie, do you remember [y/n]?” Bagman asks. “Will you please tell her that she was an amazing Quidditch player?”
You keep your eyes fixed on the floor and fidget with the sleeves of your robes.
You almost don’t recognize his voice when he speaks. It’s gotten deeper and more velvety. “Of course I remember. She was excellent. [y/n], you scored 13 goals against us one time, remember?”
At the mention of your name, you look up at him. He smiles at you brightly and your heart takes a leap. Charlie’s broader now. His jaw is more pronounced, his face is tanned and marked from years taking care of dragons. But you’d know him anywhere. He’s still beautiful.
“Thank you. But you were a lot better than I was. You were the best seeker of the school – by far.”
Charlie flashes you a grin and you can’t help but grin in return.
“So that’s settled then. I’d love to have you on the team, Selwyn. I’ll send you an owl with the details,” Ludo interjects.
You don’t correct him on the false name. You only nod, wave them both goodbye, and make your way back to your seat.
You still feel a little sick from the interaction, when you sit down next to Lysander. You pray he didn’t recognize Charlie and won’t mind you talking to two other men instead of keeping him company. You open your mouth to say something to your husband but he doesn’t even acknowledge you.
You wait for the rebuke, the reprimand, but it never comes. Lysander is just quiet. His gaze is distant, trained on the Quidditch pitch. But you notice how hard he grips the omnioculars, his knuckles white. You know better than to ask.
You’re glad when Ludo finally starts the opening ceremony, giving you something else to think about.
*********************
The Veela appear on the field in a burst of light and impossible beauty. The crowd leans forward. Even the air seems to shimmer.
Men around you gape, enchanted. Lysander, too. His mouth is slightly agape and his eyes are glazed over, totally awestruck. In the front of the box, you can see Harry Potter and his friend, unmistakably one of Charlie’s brothers, standing up and trying to climb over the barrier.
Your curiosity gets the better of you and you turn to find Charlie sitting on the other side.
But he’s not even watching the Veela. He’s watching you.
You can’t read the expression on his face. Maybe hurt. Maybe longing. Maybe it’s both. Maybe neither.
You tear your gaze away and force yourself to focus on the ceremony again. You even whip out your omnioculars, trying hard to keep your eyes on the pitch. But your thoughts keep slipping. Back to that look. Back to Charlie Weasley.