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It was absolutely pouring. Raindrops hit the grass relentlessly, making a muddy mess of the quidditch pitch and soaking the raucous crowd to the core. This fact, however, did nothing to deter the hundreds of thousands of World Cup spectators who sat huddled together against the cold, waving British flags or wearing Irish hats. They watched in wonder as the British and Irish teams flew out onto the pitch, rain soaking them the second they were out in the open. The British team was eye catching in their blue and white uniforms, doing complex tricks on their brooms and taking a lap around the pitch as the crowd cheered.
Draco Malfoy sat, completely dry, in the Minister's box, omnioculars pressed firmly to his face. His attention was fixated on the British team, even as the Irish made their grand entrance. He took a moment to put the omnioculars in slow motion; for the single reason that he would be able to make out the name 'Potter' on the back of what looked to be just a blue streak on the pitch.
"It's exciting, isn't it?" Hermione yelled into the blonde's ear, trying to make herself heard. Draco grinned and nodded, turning his attention to the minister.
"Extremely. I can't believe Harry made it to the World Cup-" I tell her, nearly shaking in excitement.
"His life's really been something, hasn't it? First, vanquisher of Dark Lords, now, vanquisher of IRISH ASS!" Ron excitedly bellowed next to him, wrapping an arm around the blonde's shoulder and shaking him with excitement. Draco elbowed him gently with a laugh.
"Careful, Weasley, this suit is worth more than your entire business." Draco joked, and Ron smirked.
"Doubtful." Ron replied rolling his eyes, and turning his attention back to the pitch where the match was about to begin, Draco following suit. Hermione rose to her feet, visibly shaking with what could either be nerves or excitement; it was hard to tell.
She walked out onto the balcony, rain sticking to her bushy hair, but her not having a care in the world. She put her wand to her throat to magnify the sound of her voice so that everyone in the gargantuan stadium could hear her.
"As Minister of Magic, it's with honor and delight that I welcome every single one of you to the four hundred and thirty second Quidditch World Cup!" Her words were met with thousands of cheers and screams; rosettes and flags of blues and greens waving through the air. "I'd like to wish both teams good luck, and with that, let the match begin!" Hermione finished with a flourish of her wand, sending a small jet of fireworks into the sky as the balls were released.
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"-let the match begin!" The voice of Harry's best friend being cast over hundreds of thousands of spectators gave the man a proud glow. The fact that hundreds of thousands of spectators were there to see him play Quidditch made him beam with happiness as he rode into the sky for a bird's eye view of the rest of the players.
Harry looked proudly at the rest of his team, all poised to play what would be the best match of his life to date. All of their eyes darted to follow the ball that they were to be after, and in a second flat, all of his teammates and competitors had disappeared in streaks of blue and green.
Harry's sharp eyes looked for any sign of the golden snitch, rain bouncing off his glasses thanks to a spell Hermione taught him in his third year. The announcer's commentary was lost to the scar-headed boy, who slowly made his way around the pitch, glancing every once in a while at the Irish seeker to make sure he wasn't trying anything.
"-and ten points to Britain!" The commentator announced cheerfully. Harry continued circling the pitch, getting lower and lower. A clap of thunder rumbled overhead, shaking Harry to the bone.
As the game wore on, Harry was becoming aware of the closing gap between his team's score and the Irish. It was one hundred and thirty to one hundred and ten, with the British in the lead. Harry decided it was time to get sneaky.
He dove straight down, feigning sight of the snitch. The brunette heard a loud gasp from the crowd and grinned, still flying down, down, down. He could feel the Irish seeker on his tail, but he continued to plummet, only pulling up a mere five feet from the ground.
He flew up to safety, watching as the Irishman narrowly avoided a head on collision into a pool of mud and tried to regain his composure. Harry took a lap around the pitch once again as the crowd's roar gave him energy.
About 15 minutes later, he saw it. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry caught a faint flash of fluttering gold near the British goalposts. He immediately accelerated his broom, nearly flattening himself down onto it to get the most speed possible.
His hands were freezing, as was the rest of him, and his soaked robes seemed to be slowing him down. Yet Harry didn't care. He had the wind in his hair and the snitch in his sights and like hell was he going to let a bit of rain stop him.
In the corner of his eye, he could just see a fast approaching green speck trying to catch him, though wouldn't reach the Potter fast enough. Harry dodged an Irish chaser, and kept going, all of his being set on catching that snitch; so focused in fact, that he didn't see the bludger that was fast approaching him.
"Fuck!" Harry yelled when the bludger made contact with his ribs. He felt a crack and knew for sure that a few were fractured, if not completely broken. Yet on he flew, chasing the snitch around the goalposts until he finally closed his fingers around the cold tiny ball, his vision turning white around the edges from the pain.
The deafening yell of the spectators encompassed Harry's entire being, but as they cheered for him, and his teammates beckoned him to join them on the ground, Harry just turned his broom around and booked it straight for the Minister's box.
His eyes connected with Draco's in pure happiness, blinding pain forgotten as he looked in the blonde's eyes which just radiated pride and joy. As he got closer and closer, a thought ran through his mind on what he would say to Draco when he reached him.
"Harry!" Draco's voice carried above the others, even Ron's and Hermione's. In that moment, Harry didn't give a damn what his friends would think, or his family or the world for that matter. All he could think of was that he just won the fucking World Cup and he was going to do something crazy on his victory induced high.
The second Harry reached the railing, he pulled Draco's face to meet his in a tender kiss; he heard cried of joy from the spectators; apparently he was on the Jumbotron. The second he pulled back, Harry asked the question that had been on the tip of his tongue for months.
"Draco-" he said, and suddenly the stadium was dead silent, with only the sound of the rain and the fast beating of Harry's heart could be heard in the man's ears. "Will you marry me?"
"Yes. Yes yes YES!" Draco screamed, and barriers be damned he jumped onto Harry's broom, hugging the brunette and crying tears of joy as the crowd roared. "I love you, you fucking scarhead." Draco cried in Harry's ear, kissing him hard.
"I love you too, ferret." Harry smirked, and lowered them to the ground, stumbling with pain trying to stand up. Draco smiled and put his arm around his finance.
"Why don't you let healer Malfoy fix you up." Draco said with a smirk, earning an eye roll from his lover. Together they walked into the locker room, ready to start a new life.