𝗽𝗶𝗻𝗮𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗲, draco malfoy

03. ARCHIE'S PRIVATES

CHAPTER THREE
✧
-: fourth year :-

── IN WHICH THEY WAIT 
AWAY THE HOURS

. . .

NOW THEY HAD ARRIVED UPON THE GROUNDS for the Quidditch World Cup, they had to set up their camp for the overnight stay, and with much of the day to go before the finale actually started, Mr Weasley was convinced they could have it all done for lunchtime. He was most certainly right, but not even the stomach-churning travel through Portkey had properly awoken Emily, and all she wanted to do was take a nap and catch up on sleep. They were guided by two poorly-dressed Wizards to their campsite, and after a twenty-minute long walk through a haze of mist until they finally stumbled upon it, as though it came from nowhere, directed towards a cottage to find the site manager, a Muggle by the name of Mr Roberts.

He pointed out their plot, and there was quite some struggle for Mr Weasley to figure out the payment from it. He had some Muggle money, but unlike Wizards money which had no notes at all and such a different value, he found it rather difficult to count it out and employed Emily, Harry and Hermione's help to figure it out. Mr Roberts was rather a grump, and considerably judgemental, and apparently rather smart in figuring out that the many magical people who had come to rent areas of his campsite weren't Muggles like they pretended to be. He had to be Obliviated at least ten times a day, and it was only after they witnessed one of these magically-forced bouts of memory loss, they were given a map of the camp and sent on their way.

It was a rather nice sight, just at the bottom of a path up to the surrounding forest, which was already lined with many tents with wizards and witches ambling about without a care in the world. It was a rather odd sight, to see a mass of magical people in entirely mismatched Muggle clothing rather than their usual robes, but this was not destined to phase Mr Weasley, who wanted to abide by the Muggle security laws which meant no magic at all, and he was quick to send Hermione, Harry, Ron and Emily off to collect some water from the campsite water pump to free up some of the busyness around their camp so that the tent could be put up without their hindrance.

"Did someone say home many tickets had been sold for this thing?" Emily asked, warily glancing around what seemed like a city's worth of tents, rows and rows of them stretching as far as the eye could see.

"'Bout 100,000 seats," Ron said, his mouth full of biscuits he had nicked from the Burrow before they left. "Dunno if that's just for the public though, or if there are standing areas.... blimey, look at that slug!"

He pointed somewhere not too far along the way they walked,, and their eyes trained on what seemed to be a two-year-old boy holding a wand, laughing to himself. As they came level with him, his mother came running out of the tent, hair still in rollers. "How many times, Kevin? You don't - touch - Daddy's - wand - yecch!" She had stepped in the slug, which had been about the size of a salami.

The lot of them winced and continued on, watching as the campsite around them began to come to life; people were waking up, infinitely excited that the day had finally come and the finale of the Quidditch World Cup would take place. Here and there, adults were waking and exiting their tents to cook breakfast, many keeping a close eye on their magical children - or not, for some, for they had already seen a ministry worker chasing after two young girls - a similar age to Kevin - racing along on miniature broomsticks that flew no higher than to allow their toes to skim against the dewy grass.

They passed many different witches and wizards from all over the world. Emily was particularly interested in a group of American Witches whose tent held a banner titled 'The Salem Witches Institutes' and it was a fight for Ron, Harry and Hermione to stop her from diverting their course and dragging them over to talk to them.

"No - c'mon, how long will it take?" Emily was being dragged along by Ron's hand; he had certainly had enough of talking to numerous witches and wizards he didn't know, courtesy of his father's position in the Ministry. "I just want to ask them a few questions."

"We won't see you for the rest of the day." Ron shook his head. "Em, you know you can talk for weeks if we let you."

"I will not." She replied, indignant. "Hermione - Harry, you know I won't." Emily smiled, fluttering her eyelashes at her best friends, hoping that somehow it would work. Harry stared for a moment, but Hermione was unaffected.

"I certainly hope you're not attempting to flirt your way into this." She said disapprovingly. "You know that won't work on us," her eyes flitted towards Harry, "...well, me at least."

"I can't say I see the harm in it," Harry mumbled, and Emily's face lit up.

"I knew there was a reason you're my favourite." She hummed, slipping an arm into his. "But don't worry, I won't leave you with these two worrywarts. The Gods will look upon you in favour, I'm sure."

"And that's comforting." A certain ginger grumbled behind them.

"Well, considering all you and your apes of brothers could do was stare at the breasts of a statue yesterday, they certainly won't even glance at you." Emily-Anne spat, and turned forward.

"I thought she'd forgotten about that," Ron mumbled, but his disengaged attitude quickly turned around. "Bloody hell - is it just my eyes or has everything gone green?"

They had walked into a patch of tents that were all covered with a thick growth of clovers so that it looked as though small, oddly shaped hills had sprouted out of the earth. It was a wonderful sight to see, and Emily forgot all about the Salem Witches Institute as her gaze fell over the rolling field of green. It was almost like a sea, that went on for miles and miles only broken apart by the very tips of the tents, the lengthy spire holding flags of a similar green, white and orange; the colours of the Irish.

But their wonder at the sight was quickly disrupted by the sound of their names being called. They turned to find none other than Seamus Finnegan and Dean Thomas, who were sitting in front of one of the shamrock-covered tents. "Alright, you lot?" Seamus grinned, as the three made their way towards him. "Like the decorations?" He asked, grinning. "The Ministry's not too happy."

"I wouldn't be surprised." Emily crossed her arms, the awe of the sight still sitting in her eyes. "It looks wonderful, though." She smiled. Beside her, Ron had a particular glare on his face, eyes narrowed. He nudged Harry, nodding towards both Seamus and Dean who seemed to have forgotten about the rest of their fellow housemates and were solely focused on the muggle-born.

"Ah, why shouldn't we show our colours?" The sandy-haired woman behind Seamus, evidently his mother, asked. "You should see what the Bulgarians have got dangling all over their tents. You'll be supporting Ireland, of course?"

"Of course." Emily nodded diplomatically, Harry, Ron and Hermione all following suit.

"Are you saying with the Weasleys until term time?" Dean asked, the question directed at anyone other than Ron.

"I don't see why we wouldn't," Hermione said. "It'll only be five days until we go back, and it's just easier to get all our new supplies together rather than organising it separately. Say, have any of you heard about the new Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor?"

"C'mon, Hermione." Ron shook his head. "Can't we leave all that school shi... stuff," he amended, when Mrs Finnegan glared at him, "until after the match? It'll all I can think about here."

After the conversation died down a bit, and Harry finally got the signals Ron was throwing his way with the furtive glaring at Dean and Seamus who only seemed to focus on Emily when speaking, the four of them continued on towards the water pumps. They took a detour to the Bulgarian section of the campsite, and like the Irish had taken full ownership of the colour green, they had claimed red. Every tent was draped with moving posters of the Bulgarian team, the majority being of Viktor Krum, the Seeker and Ron's favoured player.