"Yer really didn't have ter do this, Blake," Hagrid said for what had to be the fourth time since the station, clutching his ticket as if it would try to escape.
"You took us dress robe shopping," Blake said. "It's the least I could do."
"That weren't nothin'!"
"Neither is this."
Hagrid went red, quickly trying to change the subject to a particularly fancy looking tent in the distance. Around them, the campsite stretched in every direction further than he could reasonably see - tents of every size and description, magical fires, noise in about fifteen languages, the smell of cooking and something that might have been Flobberworm repellent. It was, objectively, a lot.
Carol walked beside him, taking it all in. She wasn't acting like the typical Muggle, which Blake was grateful for. She'd had three years of him and Connor explaining the wizarding world over the dinner table, and it showed - she was more observant than anything else, and Blake was confident that she would be fine.
"It's bigger than I expected," she said.
"Yeah," Blake agreed. He'd never been to the Quidditch World Cup either, but he wasn't going to say that.
"Oi - Renshaw!" a familiar voice called. Blake turned, a smile already on his face instinctively.
Zabini was making his way through the crowd toward them, and beside him was a woman Blake had never met but recognised immediately. Mariet Zabini moved through a crowd in a manner that was eerily similar to all the snobby, rich purebloods he had ever met in his life, but the expectant smile on her face (and Zabini's description of her) reassured Blake she was nothing of the sort.
Sirius was right, Blake thought, and then immediately buried that thought somewhere it would never be found.
"Zabini," he said. "Mrs Zabini."
"Mr Renshaw," she said warmly. "Blaise has told me a great deal about you."
"Hopefully only the good stuff," he said with a grin.
"Mostly," she said, and smiled.
Carol was already extending her hand.
"I'm Carol - Blake and Connor's mum."
"Maria," she said, taking it. "I've been looking forward to meeting you."
That was all it took. Within thirty seconds, they were already in conversation about the campsite, and within a minute they'd moved on to something Blake couldn't follow, which was fine by him. He looked at Zabini.
"10 Galleons says they're going to be like that all day."
"50 Galleons says they'll be like this for the rest of their lives." Zabini said flatly. "Let's go."
/
The Top Box was reached by a long staircase that wound up the central structure of the stadium. From the outside, it looked big. On the inside, it was enormous - tiered seating, an uninterrupted view of the entire pitch, and a considerably higher density of expensive robes per square metre than anywhere else Blake had ever been.
Tracey spotted him first, which meant he heard her before he saw her.
"BLAKE!"
She collided with him from the left. Over her shoulder, he noticed her parents - both of whom seemed entirely used to this - and Charlotte sitting nearby, and Astoria, who was in conversation with someone he didn't immediately recognise but who was gesticulating very enthusiastically about something. She looked healthier than the last time he'd seen her. Not well, exactly, but better.
And then there were the Greengrasses.
Cyrus and Celia Greengrass were standing together, slightly apart from the group, and they were both watching him carefully. Celia had the same hair as Daphne and something of the same expression - attentive, careful. Cyrus was taller than Blake had expected, again with a similar gait to that of many of the other elite purebloods he had seen before, except he could tell that the man was not someone to be taken lightly.
Daphne was just behind them.
Blake quickly greeted Tracey's parents, before making his way over to the Greengrasses with his mother.
"Mr Renshaw," Cyrus said, and extended his hand. His grip was extremely firm, as expected. Blake did his best to try and match it without seeming like he was trying too hard, but he had a feeling he had 'lost' that particular handshake.
Sh*t.
"Mr Greengrass," Blake responded, in his best polite voice. "Mrs Greengrass. It's good to finally meet you both."
"And you," Celia said, and the warmth in it was more genuine than Blake expected. "Daphne's told us a great deal."
"Hopefully only the good stuff," Blake said, with a small smile. Why am I repeating the same things?
"Mostly," Daphne said, from just behind him. He turned with a smile he couldn't help.
"Not much else to say, is there?" he said to her quietly.
"Oh, shut up," she said, rolling her eyes, before turning to his mother, who was engaging in polite conversation with the Greengrasses.
"Hello, Mrs Renshaw," she said, in a tone that she only reserved for when she was trying her very best to impress and suck up to someone. "I'm Daphne - it's so nice to meet you!"
"Ah, Daphne!" Carol said warmly, glancing at Blake with a knowing smile. The teen shook his head imperceptibly. Mum, don't you dare embarrass me - please!!
"I've heard so much about you!"
"Hopefully only the good stuff," she said with a small smile, to which Carol laughed. Blake rolled his eyes. Does she think she's funny?
A little further along the row, he could see the Golden Trio setting themselves up with a handful of other students - Harry raised a hand when he caught Blake's eye, Hermione smiled, and Ron was already trying to get a better view of the pitch. Connor spotted them and started gravitating immediately in that direction.
"Go on," Blake said to him, waving back to them.
Connor went, not needing to be told twice.
Cyrus Greengrass inclined his head towards Blake.
"Are you and your brother close to Harry Potter and his friends?" he asked.
"Very," Daphne said, pretending to focus on the pitch.
"I'd say we're quite close," Blake responded. "Not as close as I am with them though," he said with a small smile, nodding in Tracey, Charlotte and Zabini's direction.
Cyrus nodded, before turning his attention back to the warm-up acts on the pitch. Blake cringed internally. This man is too hard to read.
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