Draco Malfoy was disgruntled.

There were far too many poor people at this place. With the price his father had paid for the tickets, he couldn't believe they had to rub shoulders with the riff-raff.

He gave an involuntary shudder as he passed a middle aged wizard - sporting a flowery Muggle nightgown - stepping out of a tent that looked as though it had been made out of recycled old brown sacks.

"Mornin'!" He called jovially across to Draco, giving his balls a hearty scratch through the cloth of his nightie. Draco instinctively straightened his suit. "Whizzing day for a Quidditch match, innit!"

Draco stuck his nose upwards in response and carried on, praying he wouldn't catch anything by breathing in the same air as this disgusting wizard.

He continued up the hill, focusing on the Malfoy green and silver striped silk tent up ahead, resembling a miniature palace, with several live peacocks tethered at the entrance.

All of a sudden, out of nowhere, someone came running out from behind a tent and barged straight into Draco's chest, almost winding him.

"Watch it, you cretin!" Draco snarled as a pail of water was dropped at his feet, splashing all over his shiny black shoes.

"Oh! I'm so sorry," a panicked voice sounded, as a dark hair girl crouched down to retrieve the pail.

She stood back up, and Draco immediately stilled. She was, without doubt, the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in his life.

And he had just called her a cretin.

Her pale cheeks rose in colour as he continued to stare at her. He realised he was gawping, and quickly closed his mouth, trying to think of something - anything - to say.

"Sorry." The word felt strange and unnatural upon his lips.

"It's okay," she said quickly, "I should have been watching where I was going, there's a lot of people about. Are your shoes all right?"

They both looked down, as he gave each foot a little shake, allowing water droplets to flick from his shoes.

"They'll be fine," he muttered. Besides, he thought, it wasn't as if he didn't have six more pairs in the tent.

She blinked up at him, her dark brown eyes twinkling against the morning sunlight.

"I really am sorry," she said again, her blush still visible upon her cheeks.

"Rory!" A voice Draco recognised, shouted from the distance.

The girl span around and Draco looked over her shoulder to see Cedric Diggory running towards them.

What the hell does that stupid Hufflepuff want? Draco thought irritably. It really was barbaric the people he was expected to mingle with at this event.

Cedric stopped short when he noticed Draco.

"Malfoy," he said stiffly, looking from him to the girl with a wary expression on his face.

"Sorry, Ced," the girl murmured hurriedly joining his side, "I dropped all the water over this poor boy's shoes."

Poor boy?! Draco felt slightly affronted at being referred to in such a way.

"I'm sure Malfoy can afford another pair," Draco heard Cedric mumble.

The girl looked back at Draco and smiled, making his heart flutter unexpectedly. "It was nice to meet you, er... Malfoy?" She said, looking quizzically between him and Cedric again.

Who was she to him? Draco wondered.

"Draco," Draco drawled, "Draco Malfoy."

Draco could have sworn he heard Cedric give a little derisive snort, but he chose to ignore it, instead not taking his eyes away from the beautiful girl who Cedric had called Rory.

"I'm Aurora," she smiled wider, making her eyes sparkle joyously. "And I'm guessing you already know my brother."

Shit. She was a Diggory.

...

I looked up at my brother as he watched the retreating back of the white-blond haired boy through narrowed eyes.

"Don't you like him much?" I asked, wondering why he looked so pissed off. Cedric usually liked everyone.

"He's a bit of a stuck up, pompous git, if I'm to be honest," he said, through gritted teeth. "And don't get me started on the rumours surrounding his family and You-Know-Who."

I shivered. Just the mere mention of Voldemort frightened me. Him being the very reason why I never got to know my mother.

Cedric and I stared as Draco Malfoy vanished amongst the sea of tents and I found myself feeling oddly sad.

Because I couldn't help but recall the way he had gazed at me with those intense silver grey eyes, and how it had made me feel as though a thousand butterflies had just taken flight in my stomach.

...

"Oh look," I said pointing over to two modest looking tents where a handful of red heads sat around a fire, "it's those Weasley's." And Harry Potter, I thought silently, watching the boy with the raven hair playing wizard chess with the tall red headed boy called Ron.

Cedric chuckled beside me. "Go on, you go and say hello, I'll take this water back."

"But I-" However, Cedric marched off with the now full again pail before I could protest. I really did want to get to know Harry Potter better but I didn't know how I could just approach him.

"Hey, it's Aurora, isn't it?" One of the twins called over, "Cedric's little sister?"

Feeling relieved, I smiled and walked over. "Yes, sorry I can't remember who is who," I apologised, feeling myself blush at my words.

"Don't worry, we get that a lot, don't we Fred?"

"I'm George, you're Fred."

"I thought I was George? Wait, which one of us is a Weasley?"

I rolled my eyes, laughing. Fred or George shifted over slightly and patted the space on the log next to him.

"Sorry, that was mean," he laughed. "I'm Fred by the way, also known as the funny one."

"You wish!" George scoffed, poking at the fire with his wand, making the dancing flames change colour.

"So how is life at Beauxbatons?" Fred asked, as I sat down next to him, "I hear the headmistress is a bit of a battleaxe."

"Oh Madame Maxime, is lovely!" I gushed, rushing into defend her. "People just think that because of her size."

"Oh, just you wait, you'll soon see for yourself boys!" A jovial voice piped up from behind us. I looked up to see the oldest Weasley, Arthur, stepping out of the tent with a pack of bacon in his hands. "Who's up for bacon butties? Aurora, you must stay and join us."

"What do you mean, Dad?" Ron asked, glancing up from his chess game.

"Yeah - tell us, Dad!" Fred and George both said simultaneously, freaking me out slightly.

"Father, I forbid you to say anymore!" Another Weasley jumped in, looking very stern. "It's strictly under Ministry wraps for now!"

"Shut up, Perce, you big Ministry ponce," Fred growled, glaring daggers at the older Weasley boy.

"Do you know anything?" George asked me, looking curious.

"No, I'm just as baffled as you," I confessed, wondering what my headmistress had to do with anything over here.

"Oh, I give up!" Ron yelled, flinging the chess pieces to the floor with a swipe of his arm. "I hate playing against you!"

He stood up, and stomped off into the tent. Leaving Harry looking flabbergasted at the wrecked chess game before him.

"Ron hates losing at chess," Fred murmured in my ear, "it's his game, see."

"Yeah, but Harry's better," grinned George, "just like in Quidditch, too."

"I'm quite good at chess," I said, feeling a sudden wave of confidence, allowing my eyes to meet Harry's green ones as I announced this.

"Well come and show me what you've got, then," Harry grinned, as the chess pieces picked themselves up and began to find their starting positions. "See if you are as good at chess as your brother is at Quidditch."

"I'll bet five galleons on Aurora, our Beauxbatons champion!" Fred cheered.

"In that case, I'll bet five on Harry," George grinned, "he's always coming out on top of everything."

I took a seat opposite Harry Potter and showed him a thing or two about losing.

"Bloody hell!" Ron said, after resurfacing from his sulk, his mouth full of bread and bacon. "You're good!"

"Yep, she's definitely a Diggory," Fred cheered, slapping me on the back when I destroyed Harry's king. "Beating Potter's arse yet again!"

"Good game," Harry grinned, holding a hand out to me, which I readily shook. "I wouldn't mind a rematch one day, just let me brush up on my skills first."

"I'd really love that, Harry," I smiled, feeling a blush creep to my cheeks. "You played well."

"Come on," Fred said, pocketing his five galleons which George had grudgingly handed over, "let me get my champion a bacon butty before Ronnikins scoffs the lot."