A/N: Hey everyone! I said I would, so here it is: the full-length Just One Dance! But don't worry—you don't have to have read the original to read this; it was just a one-shot I posted back in September. Of course, with a new story comes first-chapter responsibilities.

First: Warnings

Warnings: Boyxboy. Don't like? Don't read.

With any other warnings, I'll put them before the chapter that might need them as they come up.

Second: Many thanks to my beta, Quantum Leek.

Next:

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I have nothing to do with the world that was created by JK Rowling, except for the fact that I am a fan. The only thing in this story that is mine is the plotline, which is based on Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire.

Just a few more things: First, please read and review! I always want to get better and I can't do that without feedback!

Next, I do hope that you enjoy this story! If you do, definitely fav and/or follow.

Third, PM me if you have any questions, comments, or concerns.

Fourth, please do give this story more than just the first chapter. Most good stories can take as many as 100 pages before they finally get going (although probably not this one… it should be less than that).

Finally, I'm not the type of author that abandons a story, so you don't have to worry about that unless I specifically say that I'm going to. Oh, and I'm sorry about the long A/N. It won't usually be like this.

Chapter One: The Quidditch World Cup

"Quickly Draco," snapped Mr. Malfoy. "You will force us to be late if you continue with this sluggish pace."

"I know! I'm moving as fast as I can," Draco replied irritably. They were going to the Quidditch World Cup and, just as it tended to be with every family outing, Lucius Malfoy was going off at the head about everything that Draco had to do and how perfectly he would have to do it.

"Accio hair gel!"

The bottle flew across the room and landed right in his hand as he leaned into the light and started lathering it onto his head. Draco wondered what it would have been like to live with a non-magical family and not be able to do magic over summer break. He wasn't sure if he'd be able to manage.

He dashed out of the bathroom (at long last), straightened out his shirt, and declared to his father, "See? That wasn't 'forever' and we will not be late." Lucius liked to rant about how long Draco took to get ready for these things.

"It very easily could have been, Draco. And please don't speak to your father that way," Narcissa scolded.

Draco suppressed the urge to roll his eyes as his mother began to check her handbag.

"Well, I think I'm ready to go as well. Lucius, dear, do you have everything?"

"Yes," he responded. "Let us move along now. The Minister wanted us to have lunch with him"—Draco just barely managed to refrain from groaning—"so we must not delay. We are, after all, special guests of his. It would seem improper."

Draco nodded.

Lucius and Narcissa both pulled out their wands, and Draco grabbed his mother's arm. He braced himself for the imminent compressing feeling of apparition that he always hated. He took a deep breath and a second later he was being shoved and stretched and squished and squashed, but almost as soon as it had started it was over.

He let out his breath as he felt his feet back on solid ground. They were standing in the middle of a forest with trees that touched the sky standing tall around them. There was a small pop! and suddenly a wizard was standing next to them.

"Ah, hello Mr. Malfoy, Mrs. Malfoy, and of course the young Mr. Malfoy," Barty Crouch said. "I must be going—lots to do—but go that way, by the way; there will be someone to point you in the right direction." He gestured vaguely to their left before scurrying off in another direction.

Lucius wrinkled his nose at Mr. Crouch before turning to where he'd been directed and walking off carefully.

Draco and Narcissa followed, and before long they reached a long line of wizards and witches dressed in some of the worst imitations of Muggle clothing that Draco had ever seen. It was as if they hadn't even tried; his parents, at the very least, could have passed. Not that that would be something they were proud of, but they were very much about public appearance, and ever since the fall of the Dark Lord, Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy had been very careful about following rules.

When they reached the front of the line, a very confused looking Muggle asked for their last name and then directed them towards a tent near the end of the field that they were standing in.

As they began to walk, Lucius started to rant about how they couldn't have just put Ministry officials by the gates to direct people because they didn't need "scum like the man standing back there" pointing perfectly capable wizards around.

Draco tuned his father out and got the feeling that his mother was doing the same. Much of the time, Draco wondered where his father got the ideas that he did. It didn't seem like people could honestly be worth that much less just because of who they were born to or because they didn't have magic in their blood. It was like judging someone because their father they had never met was in prison, or because they had blue eyes.

Draco had come to that conclusion when he was about thirteen. It had been a hard thing to decide—that his parents might be wrong about something—and it had taken him more than a decade to do, but he'd finally just came to the realization one afternoon when pondering the world. And at the very same moment in time, he realized that he could never—not ever—let on that he thought what he did, because that could spell ruin for his life at home and his relationship with his father. Not that those two weren't both already in a haphazardous balancing act that threatened to fall the wrong way each and every day of Draco Malfoy's life.

For a while, he had gone along with what his father had said, but he didn't believe much of it anymore. He had believed it to begin with because, well, that was what most children did. But then he started reading. At Hogwarts, he would check out books from the library about freedom, revolutions, discrimination, hope, and so much more, and before long, it became hard to keep accepting what his father said.

"Draco!"

Draco flinched. "Sorry," he muttered. "Father," he then added belatedly.

"I asked you what you think of going to lunch with the Minister."

Draco shrugged and said, "It doesn't really matter, does it? I'm going anyway and I'm going to behave myself."

"Splendid. Now please, don't say anything unless you are spoken to or if it's to thank the Minister for inviting us or something of the sort."

Draco silently nodded.

"Answer me, Draco."

Draco forced himself to remain straight-faced (despite the fact that he was very tempted to either glare intensely or roll his eyes) and said, "Yes. Of course, Father."

"That's better."

"Lucius!" came a voice from behind them. The family of three spun around to find Cornelius Fudge standing there with a smile on his face. "And Narcissa, of course, and Draco. I'm so glad you could make it! Have you just arrived?"

"Yes, only a few minutes ago. I'm so very glad that you invited us, Cornelius," replied Lucius.

"You're quite welcome. Now, I know you probably want to get settled, but if you'd like we could have lunch right now. I'm sure that my house elves have everything prepared!"

"That would be lovely," Lucius responded, sounding like perhaps he did not quite think so.

"Excellent! Follow me… my tent is off with the other Ministry ones."

Draco gave a resigned sigh and fell into line behind his father and the Minister.

They sat down in a tent that was larger than average on the outside, but probably ten times larger than that on the inside, if not more. There was a table that had been heaped with mounds of food and more than enough seats for all of them in the center of the large main room.

The Minister sat down first, and Lucius sat down next to him with Narcissa at his side. That left the only open seat for Draco across from his father and next to the Minister. This didn't seem like it was going to be fun.

"So, what do you think of this year's Defense Against the Dark Arts Teacher, Lucius?"

Lucius pursed his lips. "I think that it is a little bit odd for Dumbledore to put in someone such as Alastor. At one point in time, Moody may have been an apt teacher, but now, it seems he may have become somewhat paranoid."

"I agree with you," Fudge said softly. "I think that Dumbledore can do better than that old crackpot. Did you hear about the incident at his house earlier today? I think things like that should point to him clearly not being fit to teach."

"It is my opinion that, at this point, Dumbledore would appoint just about anyone to that position."

"Quite possibly. One of these days, he'll hire a vampire! Or a Death Eater! Or something else that will kill all those poor kids... Really, they're lucky he hasn't already. After all, he did already hire a werewolf..."

"I completely agree. I can only think of how unsafe it is to put those innocent children in such a situation," Lucius said, and Draco could practically hear the lie dripping off of his father's voice. There was no way that man cared about the children at school; all he cared about was his precious pureblood ways being pushed and stretched by an accepting school like Hogwarts.

"I think that man should stick with hiring wizards. That would be the safest thing to do, but that's probably not what he's most concerned about. I'm sure that he's probably got more staff who aren't completely human."

"I think you are absolutely correct," said Lucius silkily. "Half-humans should not be allowed to learn magic—let alone teach it."

"Father," Draco interrupted. He just couldn't refrain from saying something. "Don't you think that's a little h—"

"Draco," Lucius said in a warning tone. "Not now."

Not ever, thought Draco. His father didn't ever want to talk about that. He just pretended as though it wasn't real, wasn't true. Like it didn't matter. Like these things would just go away if they were ignored for long enough.

"Anyway," Fudge continued, not seeming to notice the hostile look Draco was giving his father, "I probably shouldn't have brought that all up. How's work been lately, Lucius?"

And with that, Lucius and Fudge delved into a long conversation that Draco immediately decided to check out of, which generally proved to be much easier than having to keep his mouth shut about all of his father's lies and horrible political views.

Draco and his parents walked into their tent for what was the first—and probably only—time.

Lucius turned to Draco, who realized what was coming a split second before it happened.

"I have told you never to mention that!" the man shrieked.

"Yes, well, you were being quite a bit of a hypocrite." Draco held his ground, although he realized belatedly the smarter thing to do would probably be to have simply agreed with his father.

Lucius slapped Draco across the face.

"Do not go talking back to me," he growled. He then straightened himself out, cleared his throat, and continued, "Now ready yourself and be in a decent condition by the time we must be making our way to the stadium."

Draco said nothing, but gave a curt nodded. He wondered why his father had agreed to come to this. It wasn't as if any of them truly enjoyed sports. Draco's mother flatout hated sports, Draco had only played Quidditch at school for appearances, and if his father ever said that he enjoyed a single game he'd ever watched, Draco was pretty sure he'd drop dead of shock.

Draco decided it was probably pointless to question his father's logic, and walked into his room and laid down in the dark. He still had a good two hours before the game; he'd get himself ready later. He closed his eyes and felt the start of a headache coming on.

Not now, he thought, annoyed. He hoped it wasn't one of those ones…

He closed his eyes and let his mind go blank, willing it not to happen.

Perhaps it wasn't going to—

Black skies. Fire. Screaming.

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to tune it out.

Chanting. Someone screaming again.

Stop. I don't want to see this.

His whole body was aching. His head was hurting worse again. He squeezed his hands into fists.

Flashes of light, more screaming, and a glimpse of a skull… the Dark Mark.

His eyes flew open, and the vision was over. His body was shaking; he felt like he was on fire. But it would pass. It always did.

But that vision… When was that going to happen? Was that supposed to be tonight? He hadn't been able to see enough to get a good idea. Should he bring it up to his father? No… he never liked hearing about that sort of thing. At the same time, the whole situation looked pretty bad. Perhaps he should mention it.

Draco bit his lip, contemplating the risk. He didn't know exactly when it would happen, so perhaps he could wait until he got back to Hogwarts and discuss it with Professor Snape. Yes, that would be the best idea.

He'd been having visions about the Dark Mark for about a week now, which was worrying him. It would not only spell almost certain ruin for his family, but for so many others as well. It meant that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named might—could—would—come back… and soon, too.

He tended to have visions only once every few weeks, but he'd been having small ones for several days in a row now. He hated seeing visions like these though. They were so important, which left him with such a burden, knowing these things. He didn't mind the useless ones—like the one about the cat sitting in the front lawn he'd had last summer—but the big ones were just stressful. He had to be so careful about talking to people about them; if someone knew too much about their own future, the results could be disastrous.

It was almost worse, though, the ones about people he didn't know in places he didn't recognize so he couldn't help than the ones he had to keep to himself for fear of making something twice as horrid happen.

He felt his headache beginning to lessen, so he decided that the worst had probably passed and got up, checking the clock on the wall, which he could just make out in the dark. He was surprised to see that an hour had already gone by, but he did tend to lose time when he had a vision during the day.

He walked into the bathroom and combed his hair, putting a little more gel in. He grimaced at the bruise blooming on his cheek. Maybe his mother had some makeup supplies to fix that…

Seeming to have read his mind, Narcissa knocked on the door.

"Draco? Are you in there?"

"Yes," he replied and opened the door to face her.

She brushed a finger over his cheek, grimacing. "I'm sorry," she whispered. She pulled a bottle of a creamy white liquid out of her purse and handed it to him. "This'll help."

"With the pain or the bruising?"

"With both." Narcissa patted her son on the shoulder. "Your father has gone out, but he should be back in a short while. You should probably be ready to leave by the time he returns."

Draco nodded and walked back into the bathroom. He leaned into the mirror and squeezed out some of the cream, rubbing some on his cheek. It perfectly covered up the purple and green, making his face look flawless and smooth again. It had a nice cooling effect too.

Moments later, he walked out to find his father standing there.

"Are you ready to go, Draco?" he asked. Draco silently nodded. "Very well. When the game has concluded, your mother and I are going to go out with some… er… friends of ours. You are to wait here for two hours and then go to the forest. Understand? Do not return until I come to get you."

Draco paused. "Why? Is something happening?" Did this have something to do with what he'd seen? No, his father wouldn't want to participate in something like that with so many Ministry officials around, not after working so hard to get out of the accusations against him… right?

"That is none of your concern. You will see later."

Draco took the tone in his father's voice as a warning not to press the issue anymore, so he just nodded and stepped out of the tent to follow his parents to the stadium.

Chapter Release Date: February 24, 2018