LITTLE MISS MUDBLOOD | draco malfoy

59 ; ireland vs bulgaria

Most looked almost ordinary; their owners had clearly tried to make them as Muggle-like as possible, but had slipped up by adding chimneys, or bellpulls, or weather vanes. However, here and there was a tent so obviously magical that even Dudley Dursley wouldn't be fooled by it. Halfway up the field stood an extravagant confection of striped silk like a miniature palace, with several live peacocks tethered at the entrance. Y/N rolled her eyes. That was the Malfoys, obviously, because who else would have live peacocks other than Mrs. Malfoy's husband?

They were led far off, away from the rest of the tents to a small, unnoticeable tent with a small sign hammered in the ground that read GRACE.

"Age before beauty," Anthony grinned, gesturing Y/N forward. She gave him a snarky smile and flicked him in the head as she passed by, ducking under the tent flap. Her jaw almost dropped. She hadn't expected it to be so . . . cosy. Three bedrooms, a bathroom, and a kitchen sat in one corner, while the other was a living room, with a small fireplace crackling before a plush sofa, decorated with knitted blankets and fluffy pillows.

Before anything else, Y/N collapsed on the sofa and pulled off her shoes, sighing and leaning back. Oh, how she wished Draco Malfoy were here to work those magic hands of his once again, but he was in his own tent, probably complaining about one thing or the other.

In only ten minutes, a full English breakfast was presented in front of Y/N, complete with heavily-caffeinated coffee and french toast. She thanked the bodyguards who had cooked and took her plate and drink to the table in the corner, eating across from Anthony.

"Est-ce bien?" she asked, testing his French. [ is it good? ]

Y/N had been taught many languages over the summer as well, mostly when she visited other countries. It was part of her training as the heiress (oh, she hated being called that!), so Mrs. Malfoy and a couple of native speakers had started off of what Y/N already knew and taught from there, trying to cram as much as possible in the few months they had together.

Anthony looked up, grinning through his toast. "Ja, sehr," he said in German. [ yes, very much. ]

"You have to reply in the same language, dummy," she said and rolled her eyes. "Otherwise, there's no point."

"Ah, but where's the fun in that?" he grinned. They usually talked to each other in a foreign language to practice, but never different languages. Y/N didn't particularly have the mental capacity for that, because she hadn't been learning languages her whole life like he had. "C'mon, it'll help you get better."

Y/N grumbled and sighed. "Fine. Mozhesh' prinesti mne yeshche kofe?" [ can you get me some more coffee? - Russian ]

"Ochi." [ No. - Greek ]

She glared and finished her breakfast quickly, getting up to get herself more coffee before flicking through a gambling magazine on the sofa. She didn't know if she wanted to place any bets on this match, only because there were so many possibilities. Well, two, but a number of crazy bets could be made. She wouldn't risk it, only because she didn't know the teams.

It was mid-afternoon when Y/N was invited down to the team tents. Both teams were very nice, each player gave her a kiss on each cheek as she greeted them. The Irish team had given her a Claddagh ring, which, when worn correctly, meant many different things. For example, Y/N wore hers on her left hand, right above her Malfoy ring, with the heart pointed out. That meant, well, that she was engaged. She wouldn't be surprised if Seamus Finnigan noticed it. The Bulgarian team gifted her a cross stitch locket-necklace of the Shevitsa, handcrafted carefully. It came down to the middle of her chest, on full display, layering neatly with the other necklaces she wore.