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THE POTIONEER | 2.2 "HE CAST THE MARK" The Quidditch World Cup | 1994
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THE SUN HAD SET OVER THE CAMPSITE and a buzz rattled through each and every tent, the time for the Quidditch World Cup approaching slowly, but surely. Lizzie was sat in the living room, Hermione’s legs on her lap as they each read, Ron and Harry sitting in their bunk talking about who they thought was going to win, Ginny and Elijah trying to teach Quagmire some tricks and Fred and George counting up their galleons. Abruptly, the curtain of the tent opened up and Mr Weasley entered with a wide smile.
“The market stands are up,” he announced, everyone stopping what they were doing, only Fred and George scraping their piles of money into two sacks. “You all got your money ready?”
Once everyone agreed, jumping up from where they had been sitting and talking, chattering and fluttering around until they all filed out into the campsite. Bright lanterns of red and green floated around above them, salesmen apparated every few paces, flitting between different crowds to sell to different people, shouts and cheers echoing from every tent. Lizzie could smell gunpowder, fireworks being set off all around them, the lights flashing and flitting around them, dodging between their heads, necks, arms and every part of their bodies, making them have to jump up and down to get out of their ways. Barbecues were roasting everywhere, witches outside their tents bubbling potions, warlocks mumbling spells under their breaths and any creature you could think of under the sun wandering and galloping and flying around them.
