Back at it again.
The Blackthorn Manor
Wiltshire, England
August 24th, 2024
Draco Malfoy
Malfoy Manor
Wiltshire, England
Dear oh-so-honourable Malfoy,
I still can't believe I'm writing to you of all people when I could be spending my last days of summer doing something productive—like napping. But here we are.
It's funny, really. A few months ago, I wasn't even sure if we'd ever get back to how we used to be. And now, I'm sitting here, quill in hand, writing to you instead of tormenting Blaise or Kenny with my theories about why the House Cup is permanently glued to Gryffindor's hands. (Seriously, we should start an investigation.)
Your mother invited us for tea again yesterday, and I swear, she and my mother have some grand scheme that involves us. I'd ask if you know what it is, but I already know you'd just smirk and say, "Of course I do, Blackthorn, but it's far more entertaining watching you figure it out."
I think you'd be pleased to know that my summer was mostly uneventful, except for that one incident where Kenny and I may have—completely accidentally—hexed one of my great-aunts' vases into a shrieking banshee. It may have been priceless. It may have also chased us around the house until my father finally dealt with it. But honestly? No regrets.
Are you dreading fourth year yet? Because I am. Something tells me it's going to be chaotic. And knowing us, we'll probably be right in the middle of it.
Anyway, I suppose I should end this before I give you too much credit for being someone I actually enjoy talking to. Don't let it get to your head, Malfoy. I'll see you at King's Cross. Try not to miss me too much.
Yours graciously,
Selene
P.S. If you do miss me, feel free to send a letter back. But do not let Pansy read it. I don't think I could handle the dramatics.
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Malfoy Manor
Wiltshire
England
Selene Blackthorn
Blackthorn Manor
England
Dear Selene,
I must say, Blackthorn, your letter was quite the entertainment in my otherwise dull summer. I can almost hear you dramatically sighing while writing it. Do you miss me that much? Admit it. It's fine. I am rather charming.
But really, Selene, I could never ignore you. Not even if I tried. Not that I want to try, of course. You're an absolute menace, and I've long since accepted my fate.
Now, regarding this whole "I have no clue what I feel" thing—how very you. You overthink more than the Ravenclaws, and that's saying something. I don't see why you insist on making things so complicated when the answer is right there. And for the record, I did not avoid talking about it. You just have an infuriating habit of running away from things when they get real.
About Sree—Selene, you owe that girl nothing. Stop torturing yourself over something that's long over. People make choices. She made hers. We made ours. And, I suppose, if I had to say it outright (which you clearly need me to do), I'd much rather be here, teasing you through letters, than anywhere else.
Oh, and if you're expecting me to give some dramatic speech about how much I miss you, you'll be sorely disappointed. I will, however, say that Blaise and I are thoroughly sick of Pansy swooning over me every time we meet. That is something I could use your help with. So do hurry back before I hex her into silence.
Try not to get yourself killed before term starts, Blackthorn. I'd hate to be stuck alone in that castle with only Potter to amuse me.
Yours,
Draco
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Blackthorn Manor
England
Draco Malfoy
Malfoy Manor
Wiltshire
Dear Draco,
I AM SCREAMING. SCREAMING.
Did you know? Of course, you knew. You always know things before I do, and it infuriates me. But that's not the point—we're going to the Quidditch World Cup! And not just as ordinary spectators—oh no, dear Malfoy, we're special guests. Special guests! Fudge himself sent the invitation, which means we'll have the best seats in the entire stadium. Do you realize what this means? We'll be right there, close enough to see the fire in Krum's eyes when he dives for the Snitch.
I haven't been this excited in ages. And before you say anything—yes, part of it is because I'll finally get to see you, you arrogant brat. Do you realize how boring my summer has been without you to torment? I can't even insult anyone properly, because no one here fights back the way you do. It's honestly tragic.
Mother is already making sure my robes are "suitable for such a high-profile event" (her words, not mine), which means I'll be forced into something unnecessarily extravagant. If you dare laugh at me when we meet, I'll hex you. Actually, no—I'll make Kenny hex you. She's been dying to ever since you poured pumpkin juice on her last year.
Oh, and don't think I missed your complaints about Pansy in your last letter. I told you, Malfoy—if you don't stop letting her cling to you like some overgrown barnacle, she's going to get ideas. And frankly, I refuse to deal with another year of her whining about how tragic it is that you don't return her feelings.
But back to important matters—
We are going to THE QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP. I expect you to be just as excited as I am. You are, aren't you? Don't lie, Malfoy—I know you too well.
See you soon, finally.
Yours,
Selene
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Malfoy Manor
Wiltshire
Selene Blackthorn
Blackthorn Manor
England
Dearest Selene,
Merlin's bloody beard, calm down. I could hear your screeching through the parchment before I even opened the letter. If you ever decide to abandon wizardry, you might have a future as a Howler.
Yes, I knew about the Quidditch World Cup before you did. Of course, I did. I'm a Malfoy. Do you think my father would let something as important as this slip past me? He's been talking about it for months, going on about how we'll be in the Minister's box with the best view of the match.
And you're right—I am excited. Do not tell anyone I admitted that. If Blaise or Kenny get wind of this, I'll know exactly who to blame. But Krum—can you believe it? We'll be watching Viktor Krum play live. That Wronski Feint? That's what I'm waiting for.
As for you finally getting to see me again—what a relief for you, truly. I don't know how you've survived this long without my presence. You must be devastated. Honestly, I should be offended that you wrote more about Quidditch than me. But, fine. I suppose I miss you too. A bit.
And don't start with the Pansy nonsense. I'm aware she's unbearable. She's like an overgrown barnacle? Well, I'd say more of an overfed garden gnome with attachment issues, but sure, we'll go with barnacle. If she starts anything at the Cup, I expect you to rescue me. You owe me.
Tell Kenny to keep her wand to herself—I still have pumpkin juice stains on one of my best robes from last year. And if she even thinks about getting revenge, remind her that I know exactly where she hides her sweets.
Enjoy your mother forcing you into some ridiculous robes—I, on the other hand, will look perfect. As always.
See you at the Cup, Blackthorn. Try not to faint when you lay eyes on me.
The most desirabe, Draco Malfoy
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I rolled my eyes at Draco's letter, though I couldn't help but smirk. Typical. His ego was so inflated I was surprised he hadn't floated out of Malfoy Manor and landed straight onto the Quidditch pitch.
The good news? I had the liberty to choose my own clothing for the World Cup—within reason, of course. My mother had made it painfully clear:
"Selene, your attire must reflect the dignity of our lineage. You are a Blackthorn, not some street-performing jester. You will dress with refinement, with grace, and with absolute respect to our family's standing. I will not have the Minister—or the Malfoys—thinking we have lowered our standards."
Honestly, that woman needed a checkup. Blood purity obsession to this degree should be illegal. I was convinced she secretly spent her evenings polishing our family tree like it was a bloody trophy.
I was standing in front of a full-length mirror, my arms crossed, glaring at the outfit I had finally compromised on. It was elegant, but not over-the-top like my mother had originally suggested. A deep emerald-green blazer lined with silver accents, draped over a fitted black dress that did not have unnecessary frills (thank Merlin, i loved frills, but not the ones my mother chose). A delicate silver chain rested at my collarbone, and my boots were just high enough to make a statement but not so high that I'd trip and fall on my face in front of the Minister.
"Absolutely not." My mother's voice rang out behind me.
I sighed, turning to face her. "Mother, it's fine. It's dignified, it's refined, and it does not make me look like I belong in a museum."
She pursed her lips. "Selene, we are attending as guests of the Minister. You represent this family, and—"
"And I am representing this family," I cut in. "Just not like a porcelain doll from the 1800s."
My father, lounging in his chair with the Daily Prophet in hand, let out a chuckle. "Let the girl breathe, Silvia. She'll be fine."
My mother shot him a look. He merely turned the page.
"It's always you," she muttered, shaking her head. "She gets this stubborn streak from you."
"Thank Merlin for that," I mumbled under my breath, earning me a sharp glance.
"I heard that."
I pressed my lips together, biting back a grin.
"Now, dear," my father continued, finally setting down his paper. "Selene looks just fine. If anything, she'll be the best-dressed out of all those Pureblood children running around, and you know the Malfoys will approve."
That seemed to settle it. My mother gave my outfit a final once-over, sighed dramatically, and turned on her heel. "Fine. But if Pansy Parkinson outshines you, don't come crying to me."
I shuddered at the thought. "I'd sooner be thrown into Azkaban than let Pansy outshine me in anything."
My father smirked. "That's my girl."
With that, we were finally ready to leave. I couldn't contain my excitement any longer. The Quidditch World Cup. The best teams in the world. The Minister's box. And, of course, seeing Draco again after weeks of relentless letter-sending (he would never admit to how many times he wrote first, but I had the stack to prove it).
I grabbed my wand, took one last look in the mirror, and smiled. This was going to be fun.
We Apparated close to the stadium, and the moment we landed, my breath hitched. The Quidditch World Cup stadium was nothing short of magnificent—a massive, glowing structure that looked like a giant bowl carved straight out of the earth, stretching so high that the very top disappeared into the sky. Golden banners fluttered in the wind, each bearing the insignia of the competing teams, and the air was electric with excitement. Wizards and witches from all over the world bustled past, speaking in rapid, excited tones, some even conjuring tiny floating fireworks in the shapes of their country's mascots.
"Stay close, Selene," my mother instructed, adjusting her gloves as she took in the crowd with mild distaste. "We wouldn't want to get lost amongst all the riffraff."
"Yes, yes, Mother," I muttered absentmindedly, barely paying attention. My heart had started pounding because, not far from where we stood, I had spotted them—the Malfoys.
Lucius Malfoy stood tall, leaning slightly on his cane, his signature sneer ever-present. Narcissa Malfoy, draped in elegant silver robes, was speaking in hushed tones with my mother—likely exchanging compliments laced with thinly veiled judgments.
And then there was Draco.
I could feel my stomach flip. He was standing just a few feet away, hands in his pockets, looking every bit the epitome of composed arrogance. His perfectly tailored black suit made him look effortlessly dashing, his platinum-blond hair just slightly tousled as if he hadn't tried but still looked annoyingly flawless.
Oh, Merlin's beard.
I had to physically slap the idea into my head that we weren't dating. Not yet.
His gaze landed on me, and for a split second, something unreadable flickered across his expression before he smirked. Of course, he smirked.
"Blackthorn," he drawled. "I see you're still tolerating your mother's fashion lectures."
I scoffed, stepping forward with a smirk of my own. "And I see you're still dressing like you own half of the world."
He smirked wider. "Well, I do have impeccable taste. And I am a Malfoy."
I rolled my eyes, though my heartbeat had quickened. Damn him.
Lucius turned to my father. "Shall we make our way to the Minister's box?"
My father nodded, clapping Lucius on the back as they exchanged pleasantries. Narcissa and my mother followed close behind, and that left me... with Draco.
We fell into step beside each other, weaving through the crowd as we made our way toward the grand entrance. Every now and then, our arms would brush, and I had to fight the urge to blush like a schoolgirl.
"So," Draco murmured, glancing at me from the corner of his eye, "are you here to watch the match or just to admire me?"
I scoffed, bumping my shoulder against his. "Oh, please. I came to watch Ireland crush Bulgaria. But if I get to witness you acting like a spoiled brat when Krum steals the show, that'll be an added bonus."
Draco placed a hand over his heart dramatically. "You wound me, Selene."
I smirked. "Not yet, but I can."
He chuckled under his breath, shaking his head, and for a moment, the teasing faded. His eyes softened slightly as he studied me. "It's good to see you again."
I faltered for a second before smiling. "You too, Malfoy."
And as we continued walking toward the entrance, my heart still racing, I realized something—this Quidditch World Cup was going to be very interesting.