World Cup Pt. 3

As Thane wrapped up his brief but cordial conversation with Tonks, his gaze shifted instinctively toward the VIP seating area. It didn't take him long to locate Ginny Weasley, who was seated a few rows up beside Rose and Luna, the trio deep in an animated conversation punctuated by chocolate frogs, teasing nudges, and the occasional burst of laughter.

Yet, despite being so thoroughly engaged, the moment Thane's gaze settled on Ginny, her head turned as if compelled by some invisible thread of awareness. Their eyes met for a heartbeat, and in that moment something unspoken passed between them—a quiet pulse of recognition. Ginny's cheeks flushed a vivid pink, and she quickly averted her eyes, hiding her face behind her curtain of crimson hair.

Her reaction didn't go unnoticed. Rose smirked knowingly while Luna, ever more gentle, gave Ginny a soft pat on the back and whispered something that made the younger girl groan in embarrassment and bury her face in her hands.

Even without his heightened hearing, Thane could guess the nature of their teasing. He'd seen that particular dance play out a hundred times before, and he couldn't deny the truth of it—Ginny was a captivating young woman. She had grown into her features with grace and quiet fire: long ruby-red hair that shimmered like spun copper in the light, large brown eyes filled with mischief and curiosity, and a lightly freckled complexion that lent her an earthy, wholesome beauty. Her petite frame, poised between youthful charm and burgeoning confidence, only added to her magnetism.

Thane would be lying to himself if he claimed not to find her attractive. More than that, he was fully aware of her long-standing crush on him—a flame ignited ever since he had pulled her out of the shadows of Voldemort's influence in her first year.

But it wasn't just sentiment or flattery that had kept him from discouraging her affection. There was strategy, too. Calculated intent. Ginny's unexpected awakening to a flame affinity had changed things. It was rare, potent, and full of untapped promise. A gift... or a weapon, depending on who controlled it.

To Thane, that meant Ginny was more than just an admirer—she was a key. Marrying her would solidify his ties to one of the most respected magical families in Britain, cement his standing with the public, and ensure her powers remained aligned with his cause.

'Of course,' Thane thought to himself, taking a long sip from his firewhiskey, 'none of that matters unless I can win over the Weasley Household... and at present, that is proving to be an ongoing challenge.'

"Ginny! Ginny—where are you?!"

Speak of the devil.

Thane's gaze snapped toward the entrance of the Top Box as Ron Weasley burst in, looking like he was two seconds away from a full-blown panic attack. Harry and Hermione followed close behind, both trying—unsuccessfully—to calm their friend.

Ginny bolted upright, her posture stiff with mortification. "I'm right here, Ron! Will you please stop making a scene?"

Ron froze mid-stride, scanning the box until he laid eyes on his sister. A wave of relief passed over his face. "Oh thank Merlin, nothing's happened."

"What are you talking about?" Ginny hissed through clenched teeth, her face turning redder than her hair. "I'm just sitting here talking to my friends!"

Before Ron could stammer out a reply, Thane stepped forward, reclaiming his whiskey glass from the floating charm that had kept it aloft. His voice was calm, smooth, and laced with just enough charm to cut the tension.

"Ron. Harry. Hermione. It's good to see you all again—it's been too long. I'm glad you were able to attend. I hope the accommodations are to your liking."

Ron's jaw visibly tightened as he turned to Thane, his voice like gravel through clenched teeth. "We're doing just fine, mate. Thanks for the seats."

Hermione stepped in before things could devolve further. She elbowed Ron hard in the ribs, making him double over with a grunt.

"What he meant to say," she said sweetly, "is thank you very much for the generous seats, and it's lovely to see you as well."

"I-I just said that," Ron muttered, rubbing his side and shooting Hermione a glare. She raised an eyebrow in return and he quickly looked away.

Harry stepped forward, choosing diplomacy over drama. "We were wondering where you'd gone off to. Is it really alright for you to skip an entire year of school? Are you planning to come back at all?"

Thane gave him an appreciative smile, noting Harry's attempt to bring some normalcy back into the conversation. "Yes, I'll be returning this year. But rather than picking up where I left off, I've arranged to sit for my N.E.W.T.s directly—and submit my dissertations ahead of schedule."

Hermione's eyes widened in astonishment, all tension forgotten. "You're applying for Mage certification? But I thought that wasn't possible without completing all seven years?"

"It's a rare path, but not impossible," Thane replied. "I've already received the approval of the Headmaster and the sponsorship of the required instructors. I'll be sitting the exams this winter, and once passed, I intend to certify in multiple disciplines."

"Let me guess," Hermione said, eyes gleaming, "Potions Master, Magical Zoologist, Healer... and Duelist?"

Thane chuckled, "Correct on all counts."

"Show-off," Ron muttered under his breath with an audible tsk, earning himself another sharp elbow jab from Hermione, who didn't even try to hide it this time, "W-why...m-me?" 

"Ron's family will be joining us shortly," Hermione said, stepping slightly in front of the boys and brushing her hair back out of habit. Her tone was polite but firm, as if anticipating resistance. "They just needed a bit more time to finish setting up their camp. Could you show us our seats?"

Before Thane could reply, a sneering voice cut through the air like a cursed dagger.

"Well, that can't be right," the voice drawled with venomous disdain. "Even in a world of magic, I refuse to believe the Weasleys could afford to cram their entire mongrel brood into the Top Box."

The air seemed to chill as everyone turned to see Draco Malfoy stepping into the room, his trademark arrogance practically radiating off him. He looked down his nose at those assembled, his gaze sweeping across the faces like he was inspecting something unpleasant under his shoe—until it landed on Thane.

Draco froze for a split second, his expression caught between surprise and indignation. He hadn't expected to see Thane—few had—but his moment of hesitation quickly melted into something worse: an eager, predatory smile.

The past year had been kind to Draco. With Thane absent and presumed withdrawn from the public eye, Draco had enjoyed an unprecedented rise at Hogwarts. For once, he hadn't had to live in anyone's shadow. The world, it seemed, had begun to realign itself according to the old order: bloodlines, wealth, and tradition. His place, finally uncontested.

"Well, if it isn't Fae," Draco spat the name like a curse, striding further into the room, the hem of his emerald robes sweeping behind him. "So you've finally slithered out of whatever pit you crawled into."

Thane regarded Draco coolly, then chuckled—not with malice, but with a kind of amused detachment, as though watching a child pretend to be king.

"Did you miss me, Draco?" Thane asked, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "If so, I apologize for not sending a postcard."

The room seemed to tense around them as Draco's face paled with fury. He took a bold step forward, his wand hand twitching just slightly.

"I'd watch that tongue, Fae," Draco warned, his voice now lower, laced with fury. "A lot has changed in the year you've been hiding."

"Oh?" Thane tilted his head, genuinely intrigued. "Is that... a threat?"

Before Draco could retort, a booming voice shattered the tension.

"Draco! Not another word."

Everyone turned, startled, as Lucius Malfoy swept into the Top Box like a storm. His silver cane struck the floor with each step, and his perfectly tailored robes trailed behind him like dark smoke. The mask of cold superiority he usually wore was gone—replaced by thunderous rage.

Trailing just behind him was none other than Cornelius Fudge, pale and clammy, his eyes going wide the instant they fell on Thane. The Minister's face twisted into an expression halfway between dread and regret, as if realizing too late that he had stumbled into a den of dragons.

"F-Father—what are you doing?" Draco asked, utterly blindsided.

Lucius didn't hesitate. His gloved hand flashed out, striking Draco across the cheek with a crack that echoed through the room like a whip. The force of the blow sent Draco stumbling, his hand going to his face in disbelief.

"I said not another word," Lucius growled. His tone brooked no argument, and even those who had no love for the elder Malfoy were momentarily silenced by the sheer force of his presence. "Now shut your mouth and take your seat."

Eyes stinging with humiliation, Draco silently slunk to the side, his usual bravado shattered under the public reprimand.

Lucius didn't spare his son another glance. He stepped forward, his polished boots clicking sharply against the floor as he turned to face Thane directly. Their eyes locked—silver and green.

The elder Malfoy held Thane's gaze for a long moment. No words passed between them. There was something strange in Lucius' stare—not quite deference, not exactly challenge. A flicker of calculation, perhaps. Then, as swiftly as he'd arrived, Lucius turned on his heel and glided toward his seat, cloak billowing in his wake.

Watching him go, Thane sipped his firewhiskey again, the heat grounding him as his mind ticked behind his eyes.

Interesting, he thought, a quiet hum of suspicion flickering in his chest like a spark on dry tinder.