Harry told Sirius about the dreams over breakfast. Sirius listened the whole way through without interrupting — which was, Kevin noted, a considerable act of discipline — and then wrote a letter to Dumbledore that covered both sides of the parchment in close, fast script. He sent it with Hedwig before the coffee finished brewing.
"You're not carrying that alone anymore," Sirius said, sitting back. "Dumbledore will want to know. I want to know. That's how this works now."
Harry looked at him for a moment. The particular look of someone still getting used to having people who want to help carry things.
"Thanks," he said.
"Don't thank me. Eat your breakfast."
The Quidditch World Cup: a hillside in what had been, until the Ministry's preparatory work, a completely ordinary stretch of English countryside. From the top of the rise you could see the scale of it — thousands of tents stretching to the treeline, the sound of a hundred thousand wizards settling in for the largest event in the wizarding calendar.
Portkey at four in the morning: a battered wooden barrel in a suburban field, Sirius with one hand on it and a watch in the other. Kevin had been privately running Apparition drills in empty car parks for weeks, which gave him a decent frame of reference for the sensation — similar physics, different execution.
Ron, who had been subsisting on low-grade holiday boredom for days, became an entirely different person the moment the campsite came into view.
Their pitch: 10398, marked with a stake in the ground.
Kevin unpacked the extension-charmed tent from his bag. Three seconds later it was standing, fifteen metres internally, sleeping sections and a central lounge already configured.
Sirius poked his head inside. Looked around. Looked at Kevin.
"You've been living in here."
"Functionally."
Sirius sat on one of the cushions, pronounced the whole arrangement excellent, and went to sleep.
They found the Weasleys mid-morning, threading through the Bulgarian merchandise stalls.
The whole family, plus two additions: Amos Diggory, a cheerful, round-faced man who shook Harry's hand with the vigour of someone who had been looking forward to this, and Cedric, who stood slightly behind his father and nodded at the Hogwarts students with the quiet attention of someone mapping faces to stories.
Amos Diggory pumped Harry's hand for considerably longer than the situation required. Cedric, catching Kevin's eye, looked briefly like he was apologising on his father's behalf.
They parted ways eventually — different tickets, different viewing blocks.
An hour before the match, heading toward the stadium through the thickening crowd, Kevin spotted a flash of blond hair.
Draco, three steps behind Lucius and Narcissa.
"Malfoys," Sirius said, quietly and without warmth.
Lucius had already seen the Weasleys. He was smiling the specific smile of someone who has decided to say something unpleasant.
"Weasley. Let me guess — Ministry charity tickets? Or did you find them in a bin somewhere?"
Mr. Weasley said nothing. His face said enough.
Kevin slipped forward and put an arm around Draco's neck from behind.
"Draco. Good summer?"
Draco startled, then settled. "Kevin. Why are you dressed like —"
"Mrs. Malfoy."
Kevin looked past Draco at Narcissa. His tone was easy. Conversational. With one layer beneath it that was neither.
"I'd imagine you'd prefer Draco didn't have difficulties at school. Bullying. Social problems. That sort of thing."
Narcissa studied him with the directness of someone who has raised a child and learned to hear what isn't being said.
"You're Kevin," she said.
"Yes."
"Draco has mentioned you. Quite a lot." She looked at him calmly. "If there's something he needs at school — anything at all — I'd like to know."
Kevin paused. He'd prepared for resistance. This was not resistance.
"He's doing well," Kevin said, adjusting. "Outstanding in Charms and Potions. Nothing to worry about."
"I'm glad." She sounded it. Genuinely. "Thank you for looking after him."
Lucius, who had observed this exchange from two steps back with the expression of a man who has been efficiently sidelined, moved forward.
"Mr. Kevin. Good to see you again." Smooth. Measured. His hand extended.
Kevin took it.
His grip closed like a vice — not theatrical, not grinding, just steady, relentless pressure. The specific kind that communicates capability without requiring spectacle.
Lucius's face remained perfectly composed. Only the faint tightening at the corners of his eyes gave him away.
"I heard there was some unpleasantness on the Hogwarts Express a few years ago," Lucius said, pleasantly. "Glad there were no lasting consequences."
"Whoever was responsible," Kevin said, matching his tone exactly, "should invest in better people. All eleven. Not what you'd hope for the price."
He held the grip one beat longer than comfortable. Then released.
Lucius withdrew his hand. He did not look down at it.
"Quite," he said. "Enjoy the match." He turned, collecting Narcissa and Draco with a glance.
Draco caught Kevin's eye as he fell into step behind his father. The look was brief, precise, and said: I understood exactly what just happened and I am going to pretend I didn't.
Narcissa looked back once — a final, assessing look at Kevin, the kind that was adding something to an existing estimate.
Then they were gone into the crowd.
Sirius, who had watched the entire exchange from four feet away without saying a word, waited until they were out of earshot.
"Grip," he said.
"More deniable than a wand," Kevin said.
Mr. Weasley was staring at him with an expression he was making no effort to manage.
"Right," Kevin said. "Should we find our seats?"
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