TOGETHER (A HARRY POTTER LOVE STORY) 4

9

MILLIES POV

Half an hour later, I found myself slowly making my way back to the Weasley's tent with Mione, having said goodbye to Lyra so that she could have her breakfast with her family. Thankfully, I had no more strange run-ins with Charlie, as he had been inside the Medina's tent when Mione and I saw Lyra back.

"He was clearly born on the wrong side of the bed," I told Mione, as we walked back past the hundreds of busy tents and crowds.

Mione snorted. "I don't think that's the correct phrase, Millie."

"Oh, right," I said, shaking my head in amusement at myself. "He was clearly produced on the wrong side of the bed."

"That's not it either!" Mione looked at me, now laughing fully. "What, you think Charlie was acting weird because his parents had sex on the left side of the bed?"

"Maybe." I shrugged, grinning as a funny thought popped into my head. "If so, then Pansy Parkinson's parents had sex in the back of a dump trunk."

The volume of Mione's laughter instantly increased at my words, slapping my arm in delight as she exlaimed, "And Vincent Crabbe's parents had sex in a sewage drain."

It was my turn to burst out laughing, one at Mione's statement, and secondly at something completely different.

"Woah, woah," I spluttered, gaping at her. "Vincent? Crabbe's first name is Vincent?" Mione nodded, laughing too hard to be able to speak. "Merlin, I didn't know that," I breathed excitedly, our laughter barely heard over the loud atomsphere. "Well, this opens up a whole new variety of insults for him. Hang on." I looked at Mione again, my eyes wide with excitement. "Do you know Goyle's first name?"

Mione's wide grin didn't falter. "Don't laugh, Millie."

"I won't."

"You're going to."

"I know, I'm sorry."

"Don't be - it's Gregory."

"Gregory?" I repeated, testing the new knowledge out loud. "Greg's not too bad, but Gregory? Draco, Vincent and Gregory," I listed, then snorted. "What a trio..."

"I wonder what all their parents are called to name their children something like that," said Mione thoughtfully, lifting her hand and rubbing her aching cheekbones. "Malfoy's always rambling on about his Dad - 'My father'll hear about this' - honestly, it'd bring me great joy to punch him right on the nose again this year if he tries anything."

"It'd bring my great joy to see you punch him right on the nose again," I said eagerly, flinging my arm around her. She sniggered, clasping my hand around hers. "I don't know about the parents though. Probably something like Augustine, or Lucius..."

Mione and I contined exchanging wierd and wonderful names that Malfoy's Dad could possibly be called, all the way through the campsite. I began to wonder if we had got lost, mainly due to the fact that we had somehow managed to end up in the large mass of Bulgarian fan's tents again. I wasn't complaining - I was loving seeing all the different wizards and witches from around the world, and their extremely interesting decorations for the World Cup.

"Who's that?" Mione asked suddenly, interrupting my suggestion of Malfoy's mother being named 'Lashunda Ethyl Kenyetta Malfoy the Third'. Mione was looking at a poster attached to the nearest tent, a poster of a very surly face with heavy black eyebrows. The picture was of course moving, but all it did was blink and scowl.

"I'm not sure," I said, watching the man's mouth curve downwards again. "It must be one of the bulgarian players."

"Oh, look over there," she said, nudging my arm once and pointing at a group of boys a few tents away from us; Harry, Ron, Dean and Seamus all had their backs to us, but I could tell it was them from a mile away, mainly because of Ron's bright hair. I suddenly realised how tall the four of them had got over the summer - they looked more like young men than boys now. "Shall we go over to them?" Mione asked, glancing back at the poster. "They'll probably know who this man is."