----------------------> TOM WAS THE LONE PERSON to have followed Filomina's instructions to be ready at the designated time—soon after lunch—to head to the Quidditch game occurring in the evening. He tapped his feet, straightened the collar of his dark shirt, and adjusted the straps of his backpack as he waited for the others.
Charlus, having woken up only when he was called down for lunch, entered the parlour next, yawning and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Fleamont shadowed his brother, making rounds as he dragged in three trunks while wearing his backpack.
Henry Potter glided down the cascading staircase shortly after, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose and armed with a backpack. Upon spotting Fleamont's luggage, he sighed and raised his chin to view the ceiling as if questioning the gods.
"Your mother is giving the house-elves some last-minute instructions," Henry told them, before yelling, "Artemis, it's time to go! What is taking you so long?"
"Just a second, father!" Artemis' voice echoed off the polished floors. She descended only ten minutes later, pulling a trunk behind her.
Henry eyed the trunk wearily. "If the match goes on past two days, we can just ask the house-elves to bring us more clothes and necessities. I don't believe a trunk is needed, Artemis. A backpack ought to be enough."
"I have that too." Artemis turned to the side, showing him the backpack she carried as well.
"And I thought it would be your brother I would have to convince to reduce the luggage of hair products," Henry muttered under his breath, before sighing, and raking his fingers through his dark hair. Adjusting the glasses on the crook of his nose, he inquired to his daughter, "Are you sure you need so much?"
"Yes, of course, dad. I wouldn't carry anything with me unless it was very necessary—I'm not Fleamont."
"Hey!" Fleamont pouted, leaning against one of his three trunks. "That was unwarranted."
Artemis stuck out her tongue and blew him a raspberry.
"Darling, what even is in there?" Henry brought the attention back to the matter on hand before another sibling war broke out.
"Very necessary things," Artemis reiterated. "My backpack has my clothes and toothbrush."
"And the trunk?"
"Paints and brushes."
"Oh, okay— Wait, what?" Henry doubled back on her. "Why... Why would you be needing art supplies during a Quidditch game?"
"I heard a Snitch once took six months to catch." Artemis shrugged her shoulders. "I might need things to do when I'm bored."
"Yes, but you're not going to be staying there for six months. Your school is starting soon, remember?"
Artemis pulled a brooding face. "You're no fun," she grumbled.
Henry gasped, placing a hand on his chest. "Take that back! I'm plenty of fun! Aren't I, boys?" He turned to Charlus and Fleamont, both of whom were avoiding his eyes and whistling absently. Henry glimpsed at Tom hopefully. "Tom?"
Tom flashed him a sympathetic look.
Artemis hugged her father. "Fun fathers would allow their favourite daughters to bring art supplies to the Quidditch match."
"Well, art is a necessity," Henry hummed thoughtfully. "Hyperion Malfoy likes art, doesn't he? And unlike him, I know you're not pretentious, so sure. I'm not the responsible parent anyway."
"No, you're not. You're the fun, cool parent."
Henry puffed out his chest. "Yes, yes I am."
From the gap between her father's head and shoulders, Artemis saw Charlus mouthing 'kiss-up' and Fleamont snickering. Tom appeared caught between amusement and pride at her antics.
"Well," Artemis started, lips curling into a smirk as her eyes darted from her father to her brothers. "Isn't this ironic? The three of you are wearing Ravenclaw colours while I'm wearing Gryffindors."
"I think you mean, we're supporting Britain, and you're supporting the losing team," Charlus chimed.
Artemis was halted from retorting, as Filomina joined them, dressed in blues like her husband and sons. They circled a muggle children's book called, 'Beauty and the Beast' which had been converted into a private portkey that was keyed for them to appear a few roads from their tent. After they touched it, in a whirl of colours and magic, the group were transported exactly there.
Tom pressed a steadying hand on Artemis' back so she didn't fall, and Filomina did the same to Henry. Charlus and Fleamont weren't so lucky and became tangled limbs on the ground, which prompted a peal of laughter from Artemis.
"Being a Potter is wonderful, they say. Potters are rich and talented, they say," Fleamont grumbled, clasping Tom's offering hand to hoist himself up. "Well, they conveniently forget about the Potter's neat hair, brilliant eyesight, and absolute grace when it comes to portkeys and the floo. I wonder why."
"They're too busy absorbing the magnificence that is our existence," Artemis chimed and Henry voiced his agreement.
"I like Tom best out of all of you," Charlus proclaimed, as Tom not only removed Fleamont's trunks after they had fallen on him but also helped him up from the ground when none of his family members bothered to.
"I like Tom best too, but in a different like from you." Artemis winked at Tom, who smirked.
Henry grimaced, Filomina looked delighted, Fleamont mimicked a vomiting motion—whether that was due to his little sister's love life or the portkey experience—and Charlus appeared disgusted.
"Let's just go to the tent," Fleamont managed to say when his face turned less green. "I need to buy Hamish MacFarlan bobbleheads before it gets sold out."
As they began their journey to their tent, Charlus sceptically eyed those who were dressed in red. When he recognised some of his former classmates donning Bulgarian colours, he shook his head, his faith for humanity crumbling like how Artemis liked to say his IQ did. "Well, Arty, at least you're not alone in betraying your home country to support Bulgaria."
"I am supporting Britain," Artemis stated matter-of-factly while dressed from head to toe in Bulgarian colours—an eye-offending red. Without waiting for a response, Artemis flipped her hair, looped her arm into Tom's and threaded ahead, dragging him along with her trunk.
"Why haven't you disowned her already?" Charlus probed as he fell into footsteps with his father. "I mean, it's not that hard. I looked into it shortly after Fleamont was born. All you need to do is say an incantation, sign some documents and ship them over to Gringotts so they can dissolve her access to the vaults. That's it. It's that easy. So, you have no logical excuse for not having disowned Artemis already."
Henry sighed with all the exhaustion in the world. "It is easy, I'm aware, but unfortunately, Artemis is the only one of my children who has inherited my dashing good looks. It would be a shame to let such potential go to waste."
"All the more reason to disown her," Charlus reiterated before pausing. "Also," Charlus cocked a brow as he repeated in a deadpan, "Dashing good looks? Really?" He glanced at his father. "I don't see it."
"I do," Filomina chimed, swooping in to plant a kiss on her pouting husband's cheeks before swivelling towards her son. "You didn't think I married your father for his lovely personality, did you? No, I married him for his good looks."
"And immense wealth," Henry added absentmindedly.
"And immense wealth," Filomina accepted. "It's thanks to that decision of mine that Artemis is genetically blessed."
A crease formed between Charlus' brows. "What about Fleamont and I?"
Filomina tilted her head, an incandescent halo of innocence surrounding her. "What about the two of you?"
Charlus blinked. Then, he sighed, stomping forward while grumbling about blatant favouritism under his breath.
"Why haven't we disowned him already?" Henry asked his wife, echoing Charlus' earlier question.
Filomina shrugged her shoulders. "Well, I don't know, but it's too late. We can't disown him now, I dearly want Dorea as my daughter-in-law."
Henry nodded his head solemnly. "Very true."
"I heard that!" Charlus yelled without looking back or halting his steps.
Henry and Filomina shared a fond, amused glance before they too resumed walking.
"Wait for me!" Fleamont shouted from behind, now regretting his decision to bring three trunks.
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A layer of mist basked the field, which had been occupied with rows of tents. Tom followed Artemis' lead as she navigated to their campsite—a satin tent three stories huge and decorated with several turrets. Surrounding it was a perfectly trimmed garden, a hedged path leading up to the entrance of the tent which was guarded by two fountains, whose waters created an archway.
Beside the Potter's tent, stood an extravagant confection of striped silk like a miniature palace, with several live peacocks tethered at the entrance, which belonged to the Malfoy's.
The Potter's tent was a miniature replica of their Manor. It could almost be termed modest. After each of them had claimed a room they wanted for their own, Gen waltzed in, smiled at Mr and Mrs Potter before disappearing into Artemis' room. Roman arrived a half-hour later, waved at Mr and Mrs Potter before he too vanished.
Curious, Tom wandered into Artemis' room and found her painting on the faces of her friends. There were blue swirls and blooming flowers on Gen's cheeks and an intricately detailed web was being composed on Roman's. The middle of it had the letter 'B' for Britain, which could have been mis-identified as Bulgaria had it not been for the bright blue colour of the web.
"And dad said I wouldn't need art supplies at a Quidditch game," Artemis grinned to herself, glancing at him through the corner of her eyes as she dipped the edge bristles of her paintbrush into some more blue paint and gently cupped Roman's chin. "Would you like me to paint yours? Which team are you supporting?"
"Britain," said a voice that wasn't his.
Tom whiled around to see Fleamont entering with Charlus at his tow. "Is it really a question, though? We should support our home team."
"We should support the winning team." Artemis corrected, gaze fixed on Roman's cheeks.
"Which is Britain."
"Sure it is." Artemis' hands fell, and flashed Roman a smile, instructing him not to touch his cheeks until the paint had dried, before turning towards her brothers. "Who's next?"
Fleamont pushed Charlus forward. "I want to see whether you'll sabotage his face before I give you mine."
"Then, I'll be sure to control my sabotaging urges until I get yours, Fleabag. Honestly, don't voice such concerns—however genuine they may be—aloud, you're only allowing me to know and weave a way around it," Artemis advised, with the sage wisdom of a thousand-year-old saint.
Fleamont sorted through his smile. "I'll keep that in mind."
Captivated by the way Artemis painted, Tom couldn't take his eyes off her, even as Gen dragged Roman away to help her find Reginald. Once she was done painting the faces of both her brothers in pretty shades of blue, they left as well, leaving only him and his or alone together.
"What's the point of painting one's face?" Tom mused aloud to break the tranquillity.
Artemis shrugged, washing the paint stuck to her brushes. "It's seen as a sign of support for your team."
"Wasting a small fortune in buying all their merchandise and waving their flags isn't enough?"
"It's more personal, I suppose," Artemis reasoned. "It's an intimate declaration."
"Oh."
There was a pause. "Would you like me to paint you?"
Tom weighed the question in his mind. In a wild moment of spontaneity, Tom nodded his head, "Okay," and sat down in front of Artemis.
Artemis appeared surprised, but she quickly covered it up. "On your face, or...?"
Tom's lips twitched. "Or."
Artemis concealed a smile. "Or it is." She held his left arm and pushed the sleeves of his shirt. "Do you have any particular team you support?"
"No. You can choose one for me."
"Alright." She picked up her brush, dipped it in paint and began creating light lines on his inner left forearm. Tom allowed her to do so and concentrated on his surroundings.
After a lapse of time, Artemis spoke, "I've been wondering something..." she trailed off, gaze fixed to Tom's arm as she applied soft brush strokes.
Tom's encouraging hum prompted her to continue. Her eyes flicked to meet his before she concentrated on his left inner forearm again. "When you first came to my room back at Hogwarts, there were dozens of paintings of you... Didn't you feel creeped-out, or at the very least, odd? Because if I had walked into such a place, I would be worried that I'm the focus of a serial killer or something, and I'm their next victim."
Tom shot her an amused glance. "Am I your next victim?"
"Not yet," Artemis denied before she pursed her lips and dipped her paintbrush into a mug of water. She dabbed the brush dry onto a rag before dipping it into the tub of green paint. "But really... Why didn't you go running down the hills?"
"If anything, I would apparate."
Tom's comment drew a small smile out of Artemis, but she didn't speak further, indicating that she was waiting for an actual answer. Her head hung down, and Tom felt the lightest, warmest feeling as he felt her soft brushstrokes against his skin.
Tom pressed his lips together. For a while, he was quiet and un-answering, making Artemis fear the worst, before he finally spoke, "I did find it odd, but... I suppose I was flattered, for the most part."
"Flattered?" Artemis echoed, bewildered.
Tom chuckled at her expression. "Flattered," he confirmed, a faint smile fleeting across his features. "How could I not be, when I ran through your mind so many times?"
"You didn't just run through it, you stayed in my mind."
Tom's smile grew as he said, "I was flattered you cared or were fascinated by me so much, I was the centre of your thoughts for so long that I became your muse."
Artemis' cheeks gained a pink hue as she chose a brush with thinner bristles and dipped it into black paint. Then, she cleared her throat, "Well, I'm sure Walburga cared about you more than I did."
"Perhaps," Tom accepted, "but you're the only one I care about."
"Do you think you could repeat that in front of Walburga?" Artemis asked, face flushed.
"No, it's for your ears only."
"Right," Artemis nodded her head in agreement. "We can't botch up your reputation."
"Indeed. I'm glad you understand."
A few seconds later, Artemis lifted her head and set down her paintbrush. "Okay, I'm done, you can look now."
She released her grasp on his wrist, proceeding to wash the bristles of the paintbrushes she had used, while he peered at his wrist. It was not a Bulgarian flag like he had been expecting, nor was it something blue in support of the English. Rather, he realised that it was a colossal skull with a serpent protruding from its mouth like a tongue, which was long and winding. The symbol was predominantly painted using shades of dark and forest green, but the details had been added with black.
"What..." his voice faded before he could finish his question. Tom found himself awestruck by the intricateness of the art, from the scales of the snake to the shadows of the skull. It was beautiful.
"You didn't look much interested in supporting Britain or Bulgaria, and I didn't want to assume your loyalties. But I do know that you're a proud Slytherin, so I did this, just for you. Ta-da!" Artemis mimicked jazz hands.
Warmth washed over Tom at her words, even as he voiced with merriment, "But, a skull. Really?"
"Yes, really," Artemis grinned lopsidedly and leaned forward. "See, Riddle-Who-Can't-Answer-A-Riddle, I'm very concerned. You're so sweet and nice, and the world is such a cruel place, I'm worried you might be taken advantage of, especially in a place like the Quidditch World Cup. A skull radiates ominous energy and it was necessary to make you look at least a little scary. I'm hoping it will keep the bad guys away."
"Because you're the only person who can treat me badly?"
"Because I'm the only person who can treat you badly," Artemis confirmed, standing up and dusting her clothes. "Now, don't move your arm much, the paint is still wet. I'll go and visit my brothers for a bit. Hopefully, one of them is asleep so I can do them a favour and give them the beard and moustache that they deserve to wear."
Tom's eyes sparkled. "Good luck, don't forget to take the appropriate paintbrush needed."
"Of course," Artemis replied like she was offended he would think she would use the incorrect paintbrush, before waving him goodbye, reminding him not to touch the paint when it was wet, and exiting her room in the tent.
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Outside, salesmen were Apparating every few feet, carrying trays and pushing carts full of extraordinary merchandise. There were luminous rosettes—blue for Britain, red for Bulgaria—which were squealing the names of the players.
Tom found the familiar golden hair and bright red clothes donned by Artemis in front of a salesman, deep in thought as she considered the items on his tray, similar to the way she had been stumped buying chocolates during their first date. Surrounding her were Roman and Reginald, and Gen, the last of whom was negotiating with a different salesman about the price of a flag that would sing the country's national anthem.
When Tom spotted Artemis' hand hovering above a red scarf adorned with lions that really roared, he intervened and convinced her to buy a tiny model of a broomstick instead. One that actually flew. Artemis seemed pleased with her purchase, but much to Tom's displeasure, Roman—who bought and distributed omnioculars among them saying it was 'his treat'—pointed out collectable figures of famous players that were being sold. So, of course, Artemis went ahead and also bought a collectable figure of She-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named, which strolled across the palm of her hand, preening at them.
She was completely entranced with the toy, and Tom wished he could cause it to spontaneously combust into flames, have its ashes scattered into the wind and carried off to the sea.
An idea dawned on Artemis, and she placed the collectable figure of Anastacia Georgieva on the broomstick she had brought, only to regret it shortly after when it buzzed past her to the sky.
Artemis looked heartbroken and crestfallen, but Tom silently rejoiced.
"Do you think Artemis would cry when Anastacia Georgieva gets married?" Reginald mused aloud, buying his own model broomstick.
Gen laughed, throwing her arm over her boyfriend's shoulder. "Of course, she would. Every girl cries on her wedding day."
It was at that moment did Tom remember why he didn't like Artemis' friends.
He spun on his heel, linked his hands with his or's, and pulled her—from where her eyes were still cast to the heavens as if summoning the broomstick and the toy Anastacia Georgieva to appear by sheer will power—somewhere quieter from the determined bargainers and rustling salesmen.
Then, Tom put his hands on her shoulders, causing her to lift her chin and look at him with quizzing eyes. "Compliment me," he ordered.
"You have...a nose."
Tom's lips twitched upwards. He released his hold on her shoulders and pocketed his hands. "Thank you."
"But they're not your best feature," Artemis quipped, stealing a longing glimpse at all the other toy-Anastacia-Georgievas on the tray of the salesmen.
Tom arched a brow, proceeding to tell her matter-of-factly, "Everything is my best feature."
"Perhaps," Artemis accepted, now grinning. "But personally, I happen to adore your ar—"
"Artemis! Tom, my boy!" The couple swivelled to find Professor Slughorn approaching them.
The change in their postures was instantaneous. Both of them took a step away from each other as they turned towards their Professor, their faces smoothening over into delighted expressions.
"Hello, Professor," Artemis was the first to greet, putting on a lovely smile.
"Good afternoon, Professor. It's great to run into you here," Tom spoke politely.
Professor Slughorn beamed. "Yes, yes indeed. Some of my former students are part of the team, you see, and they insisted that I show them support, so here I am," he told them, despite neither of them asking, before saying, "Supporting Britain, I hope?"
"Of course, Professor," Artemis answered. "This is the first time in almost four decades that Britain made it to the finals of the World Cup, so it would be a sin to do anything but support them."
Tom shot her an amused glance, a smile playing on his lips. But when he noticed Professor Slughorn laugh in agreement once more—not paying heed to the Bulgarian colours Artemis wore—the epiphany that now, there was someone who was even more oblivious to Quidditch than he, was present in a field of fanatics.
"Anyway, It's a good thing I found the two of you together." Professor Slughorn laughed heartily, ready to reveal a new concept he had created. He had spent the entire summer putting together a contingency plan due to a horrible situation that had been revealed.
Last academic year when the tensions had been high, students had been petrified, and all signs pointed to the culprit being a Slytherin, the already fragile house unity had plummeted to an all-time low. It seemed to get worse when the culprit had been unravelled to be a Gryffindor, which had a famous rivalry with Slytherin, whose students appeared to have been falsely accused.
During the meeting to decide the timetables of the students, Professor Dumbledore had suggested that they design schedules that would allow the students of Gryffindor and Slytherin to spend more time together, find common ground and be more friendly, reasoning that it was the only way for the coming school year to be bearable. And while Horace Slughorn, Head of Slytherin, was all for house unity, his heart broke as that meant Tom Riddle and Artemis Potter wouldn't be able to spend much time during classes.
To salt the wound, the final timetable created only one class that his two—favourite—students had together, and it wasn't even Potions. It was Transfigurations, with Professor Dumbledore, who simply didn't understand the situation—despite having won the bet—as well as Horace did. And, to make matters worse than worse, there was a change in the Prefect patrol schedules also now that Tom and Artemis were in their sixth years, causing Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff to be paired, and Gryffindor with Slytherin.
To say Horace Slughorn was fuming mad would be a glaring understatement.
Nevertheless, Artemis and Tom had to continue being strong despite the obstacles thrown their way, and Horace was willing to shield them. "See, I'm putting together a little...club of sorts—a gathering, really—for potion enthusiasts. I was wondering if the two of you would be interested in joining?"
"That sounds lovely, Professor," Artemis said at the same time Tom said, "We would be honoured, Professor."
Professor Slughorn lit up like a lumos. "Excellent!" He cheered. "We could have the first meeting in the Hogwarts Express, and perhaps another one during Halloween? On special occasions, mostly, but we could meet up whenever time allows." Whenever Tom or Artemis haven't been spending much time together.
"That's nice, Professor, we'd be delighted to join, or help in any way," Artemis said, and Professor Slughorn was overcome with joy.
The three of them discussed things they had read in various Potion journals, and Artemis also filled in Professor Slughorn about Fleamont's dabbles of experiments in the art of potions.
Fleamont had been adamantly trying to find a solution to fix the Potter's characteristically messy hair and had chosen Charlus as his latest guinea pig, which had not worked out well for the eldest Potter son. Fleamont had been trying to pursue Charlus into being his human hamster once more, but the latter was being hard to ensnare.
("Please?"
"No. The last time I drank the potion, it took me three weeks for my eyebrows to grow back."
"Yes, but this time, I'm sure it'll only take two.")
Then, Professor Slughorn finally bade the couple goodbye, and they parted ways. Tom and Artemis joined with her friends before navigating back to their tent, where her parents and siblings awaited.
Together, they journeyed to the Top Box manoeuvring their way through the crowd. Tom held Artemis' hand tightly, afraid to lose her in the sea of people. When she had chanced a glance at him over her shoulder, blue eyes dark in the late evening's sun, face bathed in the background of the dawning sky's soft oranges and gentle teals; Tom's heart had skipped several beats.
No, he hadn't regretted choosing her over immortality not two months ago. Not when she made every day worth living, not just existing. Not when she smiled at him like there was still good in him like she believed he was good despite his sins and crimes.
She caught him looking, and lifted a brow with a silent question.
Tom shook his head, smiling, as he answered aloud, "Nothing. Just thinking."
"I'm proud of you for exploring a new hobby," Artemis congratulated, turning back ahead as they climbed up the steps leading to the Top Box, even as she gently squeezed his hand as if to assure him everything was alright.
The Top Box was precisely what it hinted at: a small box located at the highest point of the stadium. It was situated exactly halfway between the golden goal posts, and according to Fleamont, was the best place to watch the game as they were given a bird's eye view.
Henry and Filomina left to greet the two Ministers of Magic, both of whom they knew well due to Henry's past job at the International Confederation of Wizards, and his current job in the WIzengamot.
Meanwhile, the rest of them claimed their seats in the front row of the purple-and-gilt chairs, with Artemis sitting at Tom's left and Roman at Tom's right. When the Malfoy's entered the Top Box, with Abraxas' parents threading towards the Ministers and Artemis' parents without sparing the children a glance, Abraxas sauntered towards the front and scowled at Roman's presence, especially since he sat beside Tom. Roman just stared at him, unimpressed.
"What are you looking at, mudblood?" Abraxas sneered.
"Nothing pleasant, pureblood." The wink Roman tossed Abraxas the next moment highly contradicted his statement, leaving Abraxas' left eye to twitch as he sat far away from Roman, and Artemis to laugh, while Tom disguised his snickers as coughs behind his hand.
Soon, the commentator—a former Quidditch player whose name Tom couldn't be bothered to care, and severely lacked the flair Artemis possessed whenever she spoke during the matches—held his wand below his lips and announced the start of the match, introducing the referee, the teams and the players.
The mascots of both countries sauntered in.
"Here we go," Henry muttered, and drew his wand. "Don't look ahead, look at someone else for a while," he instructed them before he waved his wand around, soon after which Tom felt like an embrace of warmth.
The reason for his actions became clear when Tom spotted Veelas.
He felt a nudge and turned towards Artemis. She opened her mouth to form words, but Tom couldn't hear anything. "What?" He asked, but then, she appeared confused, then pointed to her ears with a shake of her head, indicating that like him, she couldn't hear anything either, but she kept staring at him.
Tom recollected Mr Potter's words and reflected Artemis' behaviour. He stared into her eyes for as long as silence was loud. He realised that they weren't clear blue like he'd originally assumed. Rather, her eyes were a deep Ravenclaw blue streaked with lighter shades.
Similarly, Artemis too focused on Tom's eyes, noting that they were primarily grey with lovely little blue flecks splattered in, like an abstract painting.
Noise tore through the atmosphere suddenly for her, and Artemis flinched. She looked past Tom's shoulder to see her father pocket his wand once more. Over at the field, the Veelas had now disappeared, and players whizzed in.
When Anastacia Georgieva flew so close to the Top Box, Artemis did not faint—because fainting was for Victorians and goats, and she was neither—but it was fair to say she might have come over slightly dizzy.
Instead, Tom had to cover his ears when loud cheers pierced through the air. Oh, the woes of being surrounded by Quidditch fanatics during the final match of the Quidditch World Cup, when you weren't one yourself.
At least, he wasn't seated beside Gen, who would have no doubt plucked his hand and used it as an extended accessory of hers to cheer and wave; like she was doing to Charlus, who needed little encouragement from her to cheer for Britain himself. Both of them performed dances, standing up many times, much to the annoyance of those sitting behind them.
The referee released four balls in the central circle. The snitch and the bludgers whirled in the wind before disappearing, and the quaffle was hoisted up. The game began. The noise filled the air as the crowd roared like thunder—yelling, clapping, jumping, hitting people with their flags, waving, dancing and cheering.
Tom held up the omniocular to his eye, intending to watch as the players fleeted through the scene, the quaffle was being juggled. A second later, he realised that just because he was observing a game of Quidditch, did not change the fact that he did not understand the said game of Quidditch. So, rather, he set the omniocular on his lap, folded his arms and closed his eyes, embodying elegance and boredom.
A loud thud sound startled him into opening his eyes. It was the commentator—he had dropped his wand, and was wide-eyed.
Tom piqued his brow, surprised by the quietude of the atmosphere. On the field, a lone player clad in red had one arm thrust upwards, a golden ball secured in her fingers.
The commentator picked up his wand with reflamed enthusiasm, as he excitedly said, "The snitch has been caught by Akulov in twenty-two seconds! History has been made today!" An astonished silence covered the crowd like a palpable cloak as the referee declared the game over and announced the victory of the Bulgarians before half the crowd—those donning red clothes and face paint—erupted into applause.
Tom's eyebrows rose. At his right, Roman's mouth had dropped, and at his left, Artemis was wide-eyed unresponsive. He asked her, "Is the match really over?"
Artemis silently nodded her head to confirm his suspicions, too stunned to form words.
Creases appeared on Tom's forehead. "Can it get over so quickly?"
Artemis nodded again, her lips parted in shock.
Tom faced forward once more. Beside him, Roman blinked. "Huh," he huffed, "well, that was anticlimactic."
"Our school games are much more interesting," Gen agreed, leaning into Charlus, who added, "And longer."
"I thought this match would go on for days," Fleamont muttered. "Do you know how difficult it was to find a spell that would allow me to not change my clothes or use the bathroom so I could watch every second of this game?"
Filomina wrinkled her nose. "Too much information, dear."
"Thousands of gallons spent for one minute?" Henry appeared on the verge of tears. "And Bulgaria won?"
"The snitch was caught too quickly. The game must have been fixed," Charlus declared like it was the only logical explanation, and Tom was amused to find multiple nods of heads from those who had heard him and earned him a scowl by the Bulgarian Minister of Magic.
"They better file a review looking into this," Abraxas intoned, coolly eyeing as the players from both teams began to shake hands. He promptly stood up, spun on his heel and exited the Top Box, disinterested in sport's pleasantries yet outraged by the result of the game. Lord and Lady Malfoy wordlessly followed him out, while a majority of the crowd were still too surprised to react.
"I didn't even see Anastacia Georgieva score a goal," Artemis whispered from Tom's left, disappointment coating her tone. "This was her last game before she retires, and—"
When Artemis couldn't bring herself to complete her statement, Tom hugged her, patting his or's back comfortingly.
"It's still evening," Filomina reminded them, undeterred by the overly emotional responses by those surrounding her. "So, those who planned to leave with the Potters: We need to take a vote now. Do you want to spend the night here in the tent, or go home? I'll ask one of the house-elves to come here and pack up the tent in the morning."
"Home, please," Tom responded with a smile and nudged Artemis out of her daze.
"Huh?"
"Do you want to spend the night here in the tent or at home?" Tom repeated Filomina's question to his or.
"Oh." Artemis hummed thoughtfully. "Well, here is outside, which is also where cockroaches and other insects reside and cats roam free, so home."
"So that's three for home, including me," Filomina spoke, looking over at her husband and sons, who remained wide-eyed statues. She sighed, produced her wand and flicked it, sending mild stinging charms to each of them, successfully jerking them out of their stupor.
"Ow," Henry pouted as he rubbed his arm. "What did you do that to me, the love of your life, the father of your children, the one who you promised to have and to hold, for rich or for poor, in sickness and in health till death—"
"Unless you want that 'death to us apart' bit to be enforced in a minute, learn basic survival skills like not ignoring your beloved wife and the mother of your children when she speaks," Filomina said saccharinely.
Henry gulped, then a fond smile grew on his lips and he tossed Filomina a wink. "Of course, my love. Would you, from the kindness of your heart, please repeat your question?"
"Of course, my dear. I was asking, from the magnificence that is my brain, whether you wanted to stay here for the night or go home?"
Henry turned to Tom, who he knew would be the one listening from the beginning, and whispered, "Is this a trick question? Am I going to be led into a trap if I answer this?"
"I think it's a genuine one," Tom replied, mimicking the low volume of his tone.
"Hmm," Henry said, lowering his voice further. "Which option did Filomina choose?"
"Home."
Henry averted his attention to his wife once more with a large smile, "I choose home."
"Smart answer," Filomina complimented with twinkling eyes, prompting Henry to beam. She then repeated the question to Charlus and Fleamont.
"What's the point?" Fleamont grumbled, crossing his hands and sinking into his seat. "What's the point of anything? How can there be a point when Britain scored absolutely nothing and Bulgaria broke a record?"
"We came for the match, and now it's over. I suppose there's no use staying here." Charlus said reluctantly.
Filomina clapped her hands together. "Excellent. Gen, Roman? What about the two of you?"
"Actually," Gen began, "is it alright if I leave with Reginald's family? They're a few rows down the Top Box, I can find them. My parents already know."
"And Bilius invited me to a camping trip with him, Ignatious and Lucretia," Roman admitted, "I told him I wouldn't be able to go because I expected the match to last longer. They're leaving tomorrow at dawn. I need to go home and write him a letter. I'm sorry to spring this on you so late, Mrs Potter, but would I be bothering you if I ask if you could please apparate me home now?"
"You would never be a bother Roman, no matter what you do," Filomina stated firmly. "I'd love to apparate you home."
Roman's face softened. "Thank you loads, Mrs Potter."
"Make no mention of it, dear," Filomina waved off the words, and said to Gen, "I hope you have a lovely time with the Davis'."
Gen grinned. "Thank you, Mrs Potter. And I wish you all the best with them." She made vague hand gestures towards Henry, Charlus, Fleamont, Artemis and Tom, the last of whom wasn't sure whether he should be offended or happy that he was being grouped with the others.
Filomina grimaced. "Thank you, Gen. I'm sure I'll need it." Then, she addressed her family, "I'll drop Roman at his house. Henry, you apparate Tom home and Charlus, you take Artemis."
"Why me?" Charlus whined, lips twisting to settle into a pout. "Haven't I been punished enough?"
"Punished?" Artemis scoffed, flipping her hair. "You should be honoured."
Tom watched the exchange like it was a play while Charlus ignored her, standing up and telling his mother, "It's bad enough I'm related to her. I don't want to be associated with a traitor anymore than I have to."
"You think I want to be associated with you?" Artemis rose from her seat as well. "Your whole existence is the definition of an oxymoron, although there is no oxy so only moron remains."
"It says much of your creativity that you're only able to target my intelligence levels."
"It says much of you that I'm able to constantly target your intelligence levels."
Charlus glared at her. "Traitor," he accused.
"Wow, I'm wounded. Terribly hurt. On the verge of tears, truly." Artemis spoke, sniffing. "Except, no, I'm not a traitor."
"Yes, you are! You supported Bulgaria!"
"I did not!"
Charlus spluttered and gestured frantically to her body to emphasise his allegation. "You're wearing red!"
"So?"
He motioned with a hand to the various shades of blue clothing worn around the room, a stark contrast to her red. "Red is for Bulgaria."
"It's also the colour of love," Artemis informed him, tossing a wink at Tom who smirked, before looking back at Charlus. "I'm merely professing my love."
"For Bulgaria!" Charlus cited.
"I can't believe your petty spar of words was longer than the Quidditch match," Fleamont groused in a grumble.
"Which, Bulgaria won," Artemis added, helpfully reminding them and summoning groans from around the room.
"Traitor," Charlus repeated scornfully.
"Facts," Artemis countered. "As much as I would have loved the match to be longer, they won fair and square and you know it."
The Bulgarian Minister of Magic grinned at her words, momentarily halting from his conversation with the British Minister of Magic, who was making wide, frantic gestures towards the Quidditch field which was now being cleared out.
"Oh, for Merlin's sake!" Filomina bellowed, a hand on her hip. "In the time the two of you have been arguing, I've already dropped Roman off and returned. I'll take Artemis home and Henry, you take Tom. Fleamont, stop sulking, it's just a game. Good night Gen, sleep well; and Charlus, you know the rules: no accusing your sister of being a traitor after seven in the evening."
Choruses of "Yes, mum", "You too, Mrs Potter", "Sorry, mother", and "Of course, dear," floated into the air.
And so, their summer holidays drew to a close, and Tom's admiration for Filomina Potter grew.