It was a tense moment. Fudge was apparently as oblivious as a diricawl in the middle of a rainstorm, judging by the way he completely missed how the two men looked primed to claw each other's eyes out.
And this is Heri Potter!" Fudge continued brightly, putting a hand on her shoulder blade as if to lead her forward like a show dog. "I noticed that you are already acquainted with her, Arthur, but I don't think you have been introduced, Lucius. Miss Potter is here today as another of my guests. Her godfather mentioned to me that they were planning on coming out to the World Cup, so I thought she might enjoy the best seating available.
"What do you say, my dear?"
Heri gave him Smile No. 17, the dewy-eyed, ditsy one for older people that saw her as a cute little girl. She had crafted it especially for Auntie Andromeda. She paired the look with a soft lisp to re-enforce the image.
"I've been having the loveliest time so far, sir. I can't imagine what it'll be like when the game starts!"
This was one occasion that Heri's diminutive height came in handy; it just made her appear even less threatening. Fudge smiled indulgently in response, completely missing the wary look the Malfoy boy gave her.
The three men were eventually caught up in other business, leaving Heri free to do as she wanted. She took the opportunity to speak with the Malfoy woman.
"You must be Draco's mother," Heri said with a small smile, No. 4; it was much more genuine than No. 17 but meant to be just as endearing. She tucked one foot behind the other and bobbed at the knees while spreading her skirt slightly, giving a small curtsy. "It's a pleasure to meet you, ma'am. I'm Heri Potter."
Malfoy the younger looked like he wanted to say some choice words to her for addressing him by his first name. Instead, he swallowed them down. They both knew that in a situation with several people sharing the same family name, the youngest was to be called by his first name to reduce confusion.
Mrs Malfoy raised a brow, looking knowingly between her son and Heri. She inclined her head in acknowledgement while her dung-sniffing expression softened just the tiniest bit.
"Likewise, I'm sure. Narcissa Malfoy. You have prettier manners than I was expecting."
Heri assumed Position No. 3, her hands behind her back, hips cocked just so, with a small grin as she glanced at the ground just once before peering up through her eyelashes. It was meant to make her appear bashful but unintimidated while playing up her cuteness (as most of her practised mannerisms were supposed to).
"I've had to practice some, of course," she said, easing back a notch on the lisp. "My muggle relatives have different standards. In any case, I'm glad to know that you approve, ma'am."
A faint smile curved Mrs Malfoy's lips, the knowing look growing.
"Indeed, Miss Potter. I'm rather impressed. I must admit, I was not expecting such a genial greeting; it's known to me that Draco and yourself tend to disagree on matters."
Mrs Malfoy certainly had a gift for understatement. That was an exceedingly polite way of phrasing the racial slurs, death threats, and physical violence exchanged between the two of them.
Heri's smile grew wider as she straightened. Her eyes curved into cheery crescents.
"Draco and I may have our differences, but I'd rather let a person make their own impressions, ma'am. Besides, it wouldn't do to ostracise a relative before even talking to them, would it?"
A moue of incomprehension was Heri's answer.
"I don't follow what you mean," said Mrs Malfoy.
Beside her, her pointy-nosed offspring looked even more confused.
"My godfather has recently acknowledged me as the heir apparent to the House of Black."
The widening of Mrs Malfoy's eyes said enough.
Heri continued on blithely.
"As the future Marchioness of Swetechester, I have been studying the lines of descent of past Heads of House. I've discovered that I have quite a few second cousins, you being one of them, ma'am. I thought that it would be a waste of an opportunity if I didn't get to know you."
The look on little Malfoy's face was one worthy of a Patronus. When his mother reacted agreeably to the discovery of familial relation to Heri after only a few bewildered blinks, Heri thought he would drop dead from an apoplectic fit on the spot.
The riot that happened during the World Cup celebration was an event that Heri ended reading about in the papers the next day. Her friends and she had been awoken by a frantic Remus when the exaltations of cheer became cries of fright and were sent back to Grimmauld Place via the emergency portkey that Sirius had made for Heri just in case. The three girls were whisked away before the danger got within half a mile of them.
The Daily Prophet had quotes from officials saying that the fuss was just some drunks losing their minds, but Heri was more inclined to believe the infinitely more straightforward Sirius. Her godfather had come home in the early morning with a wild glint in his eyes, going on about "wretched Death Eater bastards" and several choice words about those he suspected to be guilty. Cousin Narcissa's shifty husband was at the top of Sirius' list.
"You've changed your uniform! Oh, Heri, you'll get into so much trouble!"
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